


white winged dove

by duchessy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Domestic Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Misunderstandings, Modern Royalty, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessy/pseuds/duchessy
Summary: Louis finds himself taking part in a genius ruse to keep his noble family from falling into financial and social ruin. However, even the most carefully constructed ruses have their weak link, and for Louis, this comes in the form of an extremely endearing curly-haired prince.Or: how to fall in love with your best friend who also happens to be the Prince of England, who you are also trying to fool the entire world with, in ten easy steps.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea nagging away at me for months now so here I am, finally writing and posting it. I was originally inspired by the new season of The Crown, and then it kind of got away from me, so it's really nothing like it except for inspiration for settings and outfits. Unlike The Crown, I think you'll find that this is going to be incredibly wholesome (although I definitely will break your heart at one point or another, sorry) and mostly silly.
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It is not at all a reflection of the real people in this fictional story with fictional characters.

The dull roar of blood rushing behind his ears is effectively drowned out by the clamouring of the crowd at his back. There must be thousands of them shoved up against the barricades. Small children are sitting atop the broad shoulders of their fathers, each of them excitedly waving a tiny English flag. Some of them wearing absurdly large top hats with the Union Jack printed on the fabric. Others are holding giant signs of congratulations and well wishes high up over their heads. All of them had been sporting the largest grins and cheering loudly as Louis had ridden past them inside of his glass coach, a small army of horses pulling it forward down the streets of London.

His back burns where the sun beats down against the black fabric of his suit. It’s heavy where it sits on his shoulders, the material running down his sides to cinch tightly at his waist. His shirt sticks to his back uncomfortably and his neck itches where the starched collar sits wrapped around his throat snugly. Louis still doesn’t know why he’s got to wear a fucking starched collar when it’s clearly not the 19th century anymore. He’d said as much at fitting number twenty-four, only to be told politely that his opinion wouldn’t really matter at the end of it.

He tries very hard not to pull at it and keeps his hand tucked firmly in the crook of his mother’s elbow as they stand at the top of the stairs. The ground underneath their feet is draped exorbitantly in a gorgeous red carpet that runs up the entire length of the stairs leading up to the entrance and presumably into the chapel itself.

The page boys chatter excitedly amongst themselves a couple of feet behind them, and Louis knows that the rest of his entourage would be following close behind. He looks up and sees the stoic-faced Queen's guards who stand at attention on either side of the walkway. Louis idly wonders whether they might also be tired, or similarly sweating buckets like him underneath those tall, fuzzy black hats of theirs.

The near constant droning of the organ from within the chapel that the cheering crowd had barely managed to drown out, tapers off abruptly. Louis feels his stomach jump up into his throat as his mother stiffens in anticipation of their cue.

He glances over at his mother who smiles at him encouragingly, her eyes shining brightly. Her greatest wish is mere minutes away from achieving reality. Louis is surprised she isn’t jumping for joy right now. He clutches tightly at her arm and tries to smile back at her, although he thinks it comes out as more of a slightly pained grimace.

The trumpets begin to play the familiar notes of the march and they get the signal from a man in a red uniform to proceed, exactly as they had rehearsed it.

Louis takes a deep breath and slowly starts walking down the aisle of the chapel.


	2. I

_8 months ago_

__"Louis, we’re out of milk.”_ _

__Louis rolls his eyes, stepping further out into the hallway while still trying to keep an eye on the group of children wreaking havoc inside of the auditorium._ _

__“Mate, I’m at school right now. Please don’t tell me this was the emergency you got me called out of rehearsals for,” he whisper shouts into the phone, looping the curly cord around his finger._ _

__“This is an emergency! We don’t have milk, Louis,” Liam’s tinny voice whines down the line, making Louis huff impatiently. He winces a bit when he catches sight of Elias somehow managing to upturn the costume trunk in the auditorium, spilling various bits of fabric and tulle out onto the stage. The other kids scramble to grab the most glittery piece of clothing from the pile, with both Teddy and Emily eyeing a rather large tiara that would most definitely slip off either of their heads if they put it on. Louis finds himself hoping dearly that he wouldn’t have to break up a fight when he gets back._ _

__“Well then bloody well go and buy some then, Liam,” he grumbles into the phone, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. “Can you wait to bother me until I get back home? Thanks.” He goes to hang up the phone when Liam pipes up again._ _

__“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, Lou,” he says and Louis shoves the phone back up against his ear with a groan._ _

__“You have two seconds.”_ _

__“Your sister called. Said it was important,” Liam mumbles sheepishly, softly enough that Louis has to strain to hear him over all the shouting that’s broken out on stage._ _

__“Fuck, you couldn’t have led with that?” Louis asks, his heart beginning to sink down to his stomach as his brain very helpfully provides a thousand different terrible images of reasons why his sister might have called about “something important” after months of not being in touch. “Did she say what it was?”_ _

__“No, mate. I don’t think anyone’s died or anything like that,” Liam helpfully supplies, probably guessing what Louis would’ve been thinking already. “I told her you’d call her back when you got home, so don’t make me a liar.”_ _

__Louis huffs, shaking his head before realizing that Liam can’t see him over the phone. “Alright, I will. I’m gonna let you go now, the kids are getting into a mess again.”_ _

__“Love you, bye lad,” Liam says before hanging up._ _

__“Was that your girlfriend?”_ _

__Louis whips around when he feels a small hand tugging at the end of his sweater, the phone still hanging from his grip and lowly emitting the faint sound of the dial tone after Liam had hung up._ _

__It’s little Lucy, her silvery blonde hair in two long plaits draped over her coverall covered chest, and large round-framed glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. She grins up at him slyly, revealing the rainbow coloured elastic bands attached to her braces, her blue eyes wide and conspiring._ _

__He can’t help but smile softly down at her, reaching over to lay a gentle hand on top of her head. Lucy is one of his favourites._ _

__“Well, if it was, love, it’s not like I’d be telling you now, would I?” Louis asks, hanging up the phone and leading her back into the auditorium that had rapidly turned into a place of chaos._ _

__“You can tell me, Mr. T. My mum says I’m the best secret keeper,” Lucy insists in a tone that Louis thinks is supposed to be a whisper but misses the mark by quite a bit._ _

__“Oh, she does, does she?”_ _

__Lucy nods vigorously, her plaits flapping about her face and her glasses sliding further down the slope of her nose. “Yes, Mr. T! My mum told me I’ll get a baby brother for Christmas, but I’m not supposed to tell Daddy yet.”_ _

__Louis gasps in faux shock. “What a big secret you’ve got yourself there, little miss! Tell your mum congratulations from me, will you, darling?”_ _

__“But only if you tell me if you were speaking with your girlfriend, Mr. T,” Lucy giggles, laughing outright when Louis shakes his head at her and wags his finger at her playfully._ _

__“You’re a curious one, aren’t ya? I like that. That’s good, love,” Louis tells her. “But only because you’re so nosy and so nice. I was talking to my best friend, Liam.”_ _

__Lucy’s little eyebrows furrow in a disappointed frown. “That’s so boring, Mr. T. You should get a girlfriend so you aren’t so lonely all the time.”_ _

__Louis huffs, feeling both indignant and amused as he peers down at Lucy who looks up at him earnestly._ _

__“Alright, if you insist then I guess I must,” Louis says, grinning when she lets out a little whoop and runs off to join her friends on stage._ _

__Louis turns to the kids and claps his hands once, then twice, then three times — waiting an absurd amount of time to gain their attention. Lucy helpfully lifts up a finger to her mouth and shushes the group loudly. Louis shoots her a deeply grateful look, to which she grins widely back at him in reply._ _

__“Let’s get started then! My dwarves, you’re going to be starting off centre stage, right over here….”_ _

__The rest of rehearsals for the school’s upcoming winter performance of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves goes by in a bit of a blur. Louis deals with at least four separate costume crises, one of them being Snow White herself who seemed to have lost her crown when she’d been chasing after the Evil Queen while Louis had been distracted._ _

__The kids are great though, once their various dilemmas are sorted out. Louis helps the two small boys playing Sleepy and Happy run their lines again, and wipes the tears off Prince Charming’s round cheeks when Snow White refuses to hug him at the play’s conclusion._ _

__The ones playing the talking trees — talking because Louis had refused to cast his kids as trees if they didn’t get to actually do anything worthwhile — were incredibly funny as he’d anticipated they would be. The Evil Queen was just the right mixture of evil and adorable that would undoubtedly ensnare the heart of every parent in the audience._ _

__Despite the rowdiness from earlier, the kids managed to follow his directions fairly obediently for the rest of their time together. Louis finds himself effectively distracted by their lovely performances and abandons his notebook of scribbled stage directions and light cues to watch them bring the classic fairy tale to life._ _

__Snow White hadn’t been his original pick for the annual school play. Louis has usually found himself choosing from various fairy tales in the past, both because they’re easy to perform and the kids love to do them, often having had their parents read them the same familiar stories over and over again._ _

__And more than that, everyone can recognize a fairytale. Whether that’s a story about a curious little girl and three absent bears, or a pair of siblings and an enticing house made of candy, people are always entranced by a good story. Louis and his kids give that to them. They give them one night of utter joy, whether it’s the parents watching their little once prance about on stage and adorably deliver their lines, or the kids themselves who get to play pretend and have it mean something for a little while._ _

__Despite all of that, Louis has never chosen a princess story before. He despises them. Hates the concept of a happy ending that could neatly tie up all of the frayed ends of someone’s life into one perfect little bow at the end of one walk down a measly aisle. He hates it because he knows it doesn’t work like that in real life, and if it did, then maybe the world could be a nicer place._ _

__He didn’t want his students to blindly believe in those happy endings, because all it bred was endless disappointment. Louis wanted them to believe in constant improvement instead, and the fact that you need to work on all things in your life, constantly, if you want them to be good. He didn’t want the little kids in his class to grow up waiting for a prince to come sweep them up onto his white horse, or believe that they could close the book after making it down the aisle. God knows that he’s seen far too many of those supposed happy endings go down the toilet._ _

__And so Louis never chose princess stories for the yearly winter play in all the three years that he’d been in charge of doing it._ _

__This year hadn’t been any different in the beginning. Louis had recently seen The Nutcracker ballet, and he’d figured it might be fun to try something a little more challenging this year since his group of kids were also older than the groups of previous years. He’d presented the idea to the school’s headmaster, who had been more than willing to bring the idea to the parent council to ask for the necessary funding that would be required to put on a show of a slightly grander scale._ _

__Louis had gone to present the idea to the council at their meeting that very evening. He’d been so excited, no doubt in mind that the parents would be thrilled at the prospect of their children being a part of such a classic performance._ _

__The vote had been a majority; seventeen to three against The Nutcracker. They said they loved the idea, adored the thought of their children doing the classic ballet, but that they simply didn’t have the money required. It was too late to organize a fundraiser that would raise the money needed for a performance of that level, and the school had apparently funnelled what little money they’d received for their arts program into laying out a brand new football field. Utterly classic move, Louis had bitterly thought at the time._ _

__They had suggested Snow White instead, and Louis had felt so let down that he hadn’t been able to think of anything else. He’d said yes, the council had approved the funding, and he’d mostly been left to his own devices after that._ _

__He was still scrounging for an ending that wasn’t so traditional, that didn’t end with Prince Charming waking a half-dead Snow White with a hug instead of a kiss in keeping with the age of the actors, but nothing seemed to fit. He couldn’t exactly kill off Snow White in the primary school’s annual winter play, and Louis didn’t want her to die anyway. He wanted her to live. Snow White deserved a good life, he thought, but maybe not so neatly wrapped up like that._ _

__By the time their time for rehearsals comes to an end, Louis thinks the way little Sam shyly pulls Emily into a hug at the end of the play is so fucking adorable that he might keep the ending as it is anyway._ _

__Louis shoves all his papers into his messenger bag, ushering the kids out of their costumes and into their outdoor shoes to have them out the door by five o’clock. He leads them outside of the school, nodding to some of the parents that he recognizes. He spots Lucy’s mum in the distance and waves at her, giving her a thumbs up paired with a cheeky grin, gesturing at his own flat belly tellingly, much to her surprise._ _

__By the time he puts all the costumes and props away and makes his way back to his office, it’s well past half six. What would usually be another hour at the very least of marking in his classroom, quickly turns into Louis hurriedly packing up the rest of his things and shrugging on his coat as he rushes out to his car in the parking lot, just remembering what Liam had said during his call from earlier._ _

__The anticipation rises to an uncomfortable pitch within him as he drives home, debating with himself on whether he should drive the extra couple of hours to see his family directly at their home or if he should just give his sister a call from his flat._ _

__Louis knows logically that it’s most probably nothing to worry over. His sister would’ve said if something had actually gone terribly wrong, and someone would have arrived in an ominous black van to get him by now. And yet, he can’t quite manage to shrug off the feeling that something had happened._ _

__He works himself up in such a frenzy that by the time he climbs up the five flights of stairs leading up to his shared flat, he barely notices how out of breath he is, which is somewhat of a first for him. Louis fumbles with his keys and when he finally manages to push the door open, he’s hit with a wave of the most divine smell._ _

__“Oh, hey, Louis. Liam said you wouldn’t be coming back for another couple of hours, so I thought I’d make a pie,” Zayn says, poking his head out of the kitchen. “You like pumpkin, yeah?”_ _

__Louis breathes in deep through his nose again, his stomach rumbling its approval at the aroma. “Yeah, I love it actually. Do you know where Liam is?”_ _

__Zayn shakes his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to presumably tend to his pie. “He left to get his milk a little while ago. Probably ended up at some pub with Niall.”_ _

__“‘Course he did,” Louis snorts as he slips his bag off his shoulder and shrugs off his coat, hanging it up on their heavily weighed down clothes rack by the door. “Has anyone called since he left?”_ _

__“I don’t think so? I’ve only been home for a couple of hours myself,” Zayn says from the kitchen. “Why? You expecting a call?”_ _

__Louis heads into the living room, tugging his cardigan tighter around his frame. “Yeah. Li said my sister called this morning. Said it was important.”_ _

__Zayn goes quiet at that. Then he steps out of the kitchen entirely, mixing bowl cradled in the crook of his elbow and spatula stuck in the middle of the batter inside. “Is everything alright, Lou?”_ _

__Louis looks up at him then, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He tugs the sleeves of his oversized cardigan over his fingers, folding his covered hands in his lap. “I don’t know. I think so? I mean, they would’ve come here by now if it was bad, right?”_ _

__“Yeah. Yeah, they definitely would’ve come,” Zayn nods reassuringly, his gentle eyes going sharp as he takes in Louis' appearance. “You look fucking exhausted, Louis. Have you eaten anything today?”_ _

__“I’ll eat after I call home,” Louis says, turning to the phone on the wall. Zayn stands there for a moment longer, probably worrying about how thin he is or how he’s not been drinking enough water or whatnot, before disappearing back inside the kitchen._ _

__He takes a deep breath before plucking the phone out of its cradle, his heart taking up a damning rhythm somewhere in his chest as he places it up against his ear. He reaches out to dial the familiar number, the answering ring almost taunting him as he waits to be connected._ _

__The phone clicks and there’s silence on the other end of the line. Louis licks his suddenly dry lips, every single word he had thought to say on the drive back home suddenly deserting his mind._ _

__“Louis? Is that you?”_ _

__“Yeah, Liz. S’me,” he sighs, tugging and twisting at the coil attaching the phone to the wall with restless fingers. “Liam said you called this morning?”_ _

__“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” she says, and Louis realizes she sounds so hesitant because she’s surprised. She probably hadn’t been expecting him to call back. He feels a bit wretched when he comes to the realization that his own sister had so little faith in him, but it was no one’s fault but his own that that was the conclusion she’d arrived at._ _

__“I’m sure you’ve heard, but Princess Victoria is getting married next month,” she says softly. “We’ve all been invited to attend the gala before the wedding, but Mama says it’s best if I go on my own. Thing is, I need someone to accompany me and father can’t. So, it’s got to be you. If you even want to go, that is.” She says it all really quickly, as if she was afraid of Louis interrupting her before she can finish._ _

__The instant refusal bubbles up to his lips before he can think any further. It’s like an instinctual response to everything that he’d left behind when he had moved to the little flat in London with his friends, waving goodbye to any allowance or inheritance, and carrying the weight of being the family disappointment on his back._ _

__It isn’t until now that Louis fully realizes that he’ll never really quite manage to properly shrug it all off no matter how hard he tries to isolate himself from that part of his life._ _

__“Look, Liz,” he begins, but he doesn’t manage to get very far with that thought, because his sister sighs explosively on the other end of the line._ _

__“I don’t know why I bothered, to be honest,” she mutters quietly, speaking more to herself than to Louis. “I knew you’d say no, but I figured I’d ask anyways, because I thought maybe this once you could swallow your pride and take your sister to the fucking Princess Royal’s wedding gala. But I guess one single night is too much to ask, isn’t it?”_ _

__Louis finds himself at a complete loss for words. A part of him wants to remain steadfast in his refusal. He’d left it all behind for a damned good reason and he has no interest in going back to it with his tail tucked between his legs just because he’s been asked to._ _

__On the other hand, he feels gutted at letting his sister down, once again. It’s not his siblings’ fault that he hates the way they live. They were all born into it, just like him, lives weighing heavy with expectation after expectation. It wasn’t fair for him to expect them to pack up and abandon their lives like he did when it’s all they’ve ever known._ _

__Apart from that, Louis knows this gala is bound to be a big fucking deal. It’ll be the first royal wedding of a member of the family since the late fifties, and it seems like all of England is waiting with bated breath for Her Royal Highness to walk down the aisle in the perfect fucking fairytale ending._ _

__Countless pictures of the happy couple had been splashed on the front page of every single newspaper and gossip rag for the better part of the last six months. It’s been the topic of conversation on every radio show, at every cash register, waiting for the bus, sitting down for a pint at the pub, eating lunch with the other teachers; it had very quickly become that one topic of conversation everyone clung to like some sort of social lifeline._ _

__Louis had expected this. He knew he’d be expected to attend the wedding, even though he doubts the royal family would give a rat’s arse whether Louis Tomlinson specifically showed up or not. He just didn’t think he’d have to deal with it so soon. Or in such an intimate setting._ _

__He sighs, letting go of the phone cord to rub his hand over his face frustratedly. “I’ll go, alright? I won’t love it, that’s for sure, but I’ll go,” he says with resignation. “That’s what you wanted to hear, yeah?”_ _

__The line is silent for a moment. He thinks Liz had probably been expecting more of a fight from him._ _

__“Thanks, Louis. I know how much you hate — all of this, but this is really important for me,” Liz says, and Louis feels a little ashamed of himself that she has to express her gratitude to her brother for agreeing to accompany her to an event that clearly means a lot to her for reasons he’ll never understand._ _

__“It’s not just because it’s a society event, Louis, although it definitely wouldn’t hurt to get the family name out there a bit right now. She’s my friend too, you know,” Liz says._ _

__That gives him a bit of a pause. Her friend?_ _

__“You don’t remember?” she asks him. “We used to play together at the palace when we were small.”_ _

__“What, you and the princess?” Louis wonders a little incredulously, the memories returning to him slowly even as he asks the question._ _

__And then he remembers. Himself being very young, maybe about five or six years old, fresh out of nursery school and with plans set by his parents to resume his education through a set of very strict tutors at home. Elizabeth couldn’t have been more than three years old at the time._ _

__“We’d gone to one of those stuffy events and you’d lost your tie,” Liz explains, her voice taking on the soft tone of reminiscing. “You lost your tie in the first five minutes.”_ _

__“Sounds like me, innit?” Louis chuckles, smiling wider when he hears her laugh in response._ _

__“Only you, Louis,” she says fondly. “I still don’t really know how we all managed to sneak out of the party.”_ _

__Louis remembers this part somewhat vaguely. He thinks he can recall a young girl a little older than himself, with the most perfect posture he’d ever seen at the time. She’d had her long dark hair tied back in a neat plait down her back and unlike Liz, she hadn’t given a damn about the state of her very pretty dress as she’d run around outside, mucking about with the rest of them._ _

__He also remembers the tiny boy with a mop of curly hair who would follow her around like a lost little puppy. He’d do whatever she asked of him, and the princess was fiercely protective of the prince, never letting the other two take any sort of advantage of her brother._ _

__Louis remembers seeing him in the papers recently too. On the front page of _The Sun _, emerging from a sleek black limo next to two leggy, blonde models with their red lipstick smudged across their chins.___ _

____“Too bad we couldn’t go to Talsworth when they invited us,” Liz is saying, and Louis is abruptly brought back to their conversation._ _ _ _

____“They invited us to Talsworth?” Louis asks incredulously, because this is news to him. He’d assumed that the four of them escaping the party would’ve caused quite the scandal and they would’ve earned a right scolding when they’d finally been found. He doesn’t think it would’ve warranted an invite to Talsworth Castle from the royals themselves._ _ _ _

____“Yes! Papa was going to take us and everything, but then Mama went into labour that morning and we weren’t able to go” she explains._ _ _ _

____Louis’ eyes widen. He does remember that day. They’d been so excited to go to the royal family’s vacationing residence, although neither him nor Liz had quite understood the magnitude of such an invite at the time. Their parents had been so proud of them and neither of them had understood why, but they weren’t planning on arguing with the extra helpings of cake they’d gotten after the party instead of the scolding they’d been expecting after having escaped._ _ _ _

____A car had been sent to their house, and Louis and Liz had stood outside as it pulled up to the front, dressed in their finest casual clothes, as they would be expected to change depending on the activity they were invited to partake in during their weekend stay._ _ _ _

____Minutes before they were about to climb into the car, their mother’s water had broken._ _ _ _

____The invite had been forgotten, as their parents had been hesitant to send the two of them off so far away on their own. They’d sent along an apologetic message to the royals and had driven off in a haste to the hospital, where their younger sister, Flora, had been born hours later._ _ _ _

____Although they were never invited back to Talsworth, Louis recalls seeing the royal siblings a few times over the years when they were still fairly young. He remembers that he’d thought the prince was fascinating when he was a boy; almost painfully shy, unless he was around his sister when he’d turn into the silliest goof Louis had ever seen._ _ _ _

____He’d barely spoken to Louis on the few occasions they did spend together with some of the other snobby children of British nobility who were their age._ _ _ _

____Louis loved to run and play outside, get his trousers dirty and his socks wet. It didn’t feel like a worthwhile adventure to him unless he walked back inside the house and had to be chased down for a scolding._ _ _ _

____The prince had been the complete opposite. He’d cried when he’d tripped over the grass and fell onto his knees during a game of football with a small pinecone as their ball. He didn’t like having his pristine white shirt rumpled, God forbid it ever be stained. He sat on his grandmother’s lap and loved to be coddled and have his dimpled cheeks pinched. Louis remembers thinking he was boring and too much of a baby to play with the rest of them._ _ _ _

____He’d been far more interested in the princess, although not in the way his parents might have hoped, who’d rucked up her skirts without hesitation and jumped right into the muddy fields after it’d just rained._ _ _ _

____The last he’d heard of the prince, he’d been sent off to northern Scotland for school. And according to the gossip making the rounds in their family circles that he tried not to pay attention to, when the prince had returned, he’d been turned into a permanent dick. So much for a fairytale ending._ _ _ _

____He knew that the princess had kept in touch with Liz over the years, and although Louis doesn’t think they’re immensely close as friends, he does know that they are fairly well acquainted. Clearly well acquainted enough for her to have invited Liz to her wedding gala two days before the actual ceremony which would have the entirety of England and half of Europe flocking to the city._ _ _ _

____“You’re to come home for dinner the evening before the gala and stay the night. Mum’s orders,” Liz is saying, her tone booking no argument._ _ _ _

____Louis sighs, rubbing at his tense forehead, already feeling a headache bloom underneath his temples. “Alright, I’ll be there.”_ _ _ _

____“Good. I’ll see you then.” She hangs up the phone, leaving Louis listening to the dial tone._ _ _ _

____He moodily shoves the phone at its cradle until it hooks back on._ _ _ _

____Zayn pokes his head out of the kitchen then, his pie filling coated finger held out in front of his face as if he was about to lick it off._ _ _ _

____“I don’t know if I should be worried or pleased at the lack of shouting that happened during that phone call,” he says, like the all-knowing git he is._ _ _ _

____Louis shuffles over to the couch petulantly, flopping down onto it tiredly and sinking into the cushions._ _ _ _

____“Can I have a cuddle?” He asks in a small voice, holding his arms out to Zayn like the giant, sensitive baby that he is._ _ _ _

____Zayn predictably rolls his eyes, sucks the pie filling off his finger and disappears back into the kitchen. Louis pouts and pulls one of the couch pillows onto his lap, burying his face into the velvet green fabric with a very loud, dramatic groan._ _ _ _

____He feels the couch dip next to him as Zayn plops down beside him, his long, lean arms wrapping around Louis’ shoulders in a familiar embrace._ _ _ _

____“Is there anything in particular you’re whining about, or do you just need attention?”_ _ _ _

____Stupid, perfect Zayn who is Louis’ best friend in the world and knows exactly what he needs at all times like the weird little mind reader that he is._ _ _ _

____“I’m to attend Her Royal High and Mightiness’ wedding gala with Liz,” Louis mutters into Zayn’s bicep, cuddling his pillow closer to his chest as if it could somehow ensure the rescinding of his invite._ _ _ _

____“Oh, how awful for you, baby Loubear,” Zayn replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been invited to an event that most people in this country would kill without hesitation to attend and I’m crying about it.”_ _ _ _

____Louis whips the pillow at him, even as the corners of his mouth start to quirk upward._ _ _ _

____“First of all, I do not sound like that, you fucker. And galas are the _worst _, Zayn,” Louis whines, abandoning the pillow and cuddling into Zayn’s chest like a petulant child. “They’re full of stuffy people who are there to beg for a scrap of attention from the royals. God forbid you’re of age, because then they either want to get in your pants to pimp their kid out to you. It’s a fucking nightmare.”___ _ _ _

______Zayn hums thoughtfully and tightens his arms around Louis’ shoulders. “I’ve heard lots of things about the prince. The cute one with the curly hair.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“There is only the one prince, Zayn,” Louis mutters into his neck, nosing into Zayn’s rather prominent collarbone like an overgrown cat._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yeah, well, he’s fit. You’re fit. What if you just, I dunno, fooled around with him or something? You know, to stave off the boredom.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Louis freezes in Zayn’s arms, slowly lifting his head up with his face twisted into an incredulous expression._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Zayn. Are you suggesting that I _pull _the bloody prince of England?”___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Yeah, why not? You like cock. He’s got a cock. Apparently, he also feels the same way about cocks. I don’t really see the problem here,” Zayn says with a shrug, as if he’s giving Louis advice about the random bloke he’d been eyeing at the pub on a Friday night instead of the fucking Prince of England._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Mate, if you say the word cock one more time I will shout in your ear,” Louis says with a groan. “I won’t even get within six feet of the bloke and he’s probably a snobby prick anyway.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I’m just messing with you. You turned so red just now,” Zayn giggles, ignoring Louis’ impressive pouty face in favour of pulling him back into his arms for a cuddle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Just go, Louis. What’s the worst that can happen, yeah? It’s like, three hours of your life of schmoozing and maybe if you win yourself some points with your sister, it’ll be even shorter,” he says placatingly, combing his long fingers through Louis’ hair. “Then when you get back, we’ll put on _Grease _and you can be Danny.”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Louis considers this. The last time they’d watched Grease as a group, the others had made Louis sing Frenchy’s parts during the songs, and although it had been quite fun (he would never admit that out loud), Niall had been the worst Danny and Louis had made a vow that night that he’d never again put himself through another rendition of “Summer Lovin’” if Niall was going to be Danny._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Okay, fine…. Except….I get to always be Danny.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Zayn pretends to think deeply on this request for a moment, but the way the corner of his lips quirks up betrays his amusement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Sure, whatever you want, Lou.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Louis grins and dives back into Zayn’s arms, the two of them rearranging themselves on the couch so that they were in the optimal snuggling position. The exhaustion of the day started catching up with Louis and his eyelids grew heavy until he couldn’t keep them open any longer. He burrows himself deeper into Zayn’s soft shoulder as the rest of the world gives way to the soft pull of sleep around him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________When he wakes up hours later, he finds himself lying on his side, a soft pillow in the place of Zayn’s shoulder. Someone had draped a blanket over him in the time he’d been asleep, and he pulls the edge over his shoulder, snuggling contently beneath its warmth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He closes his eyes again, hearing the soft murmur of the voices of his friends around him. Liam and Niall must’ve gotten back home, then._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The sweet aroma of Zayn’s pie fills their flat, and Louis feels his stomach rumble slightly. He’s still too tired to move, so he decides to lay there and hope they save him a piece. Liam would defend a slice in his honour._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________He hears Zayn’s low voice and then Niall’s familiar cackling laughter in response. Liam’s amused lilt joins them in their teasing. The gentle tinkling as forks meet the surface of ceramic plates grows fainter and fainter as Louis falls asleep again, his mind very astutely projecting images of giant cocks and himself buried under several storeys of bright pink tulle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops sorry I'm a day late with this chapter, but I have next week off so hopefully I'll start sticking to a more regular updating schedule. Follow me on twitter @rbbsbbrox for updates on this fic and others!

A series of sharp raps at the window where he’d been resting his head against wakes Louis up abruptly, his eyes blearily blinking open as the muffled voice of the driver says something to him from outside of the car. 

He sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes and reaching for the door handle. Louis catches a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror as he tugs at the handle. He looks dishevelled, his hair that had been neatly coiffed up onto his head with the help of both Zayn and Liam, is sticking up all over and his shirt is rumpled. Fuck, and he’d just ironed that as well. His mum wasn’t going to be very pleased to see him in this state, but a part of him truly couldn’t care less.

The driver opens the door for him and holds it open with an ever professional poker face. It makes Louis wonder, not for the first time, whether all the staff at the houses of British aristocrats are required to undergo some series of lessons in order for them to keep any hint of emotion out of their face when confronted with their employers. 

The thought makes him scowl even as he hastily runs his fingers through his hair in an admittedly pointless attempt at fixing it, using only the sliver of his face that he can see in the rearview mirror as guidance. It’s fucking stupid that they even still have staff this far into the twentieth century because apparently, they aren’t even capable of changing their own bed sheets or folding their own bloody laundry. It’s even more outrageous that the staff are meant to follow a set of pretentious rules as if this were still the Middle Ages. 

He knows from plenty of experience that the argument would fall on deaf ears if he brought it up, his father trying to be practical by saying a house like theirs requires at least a half capacity staff in order to function. Then his mother would respond to Louis’ rebuttal that they wouldn’t need staff at all if they moved off the estate into a normal sized house, by saying that it would be a dishonour to the Queen and their family history and whatever else bullshit. 

Louis exits the car, making an effort to rid his face of the scowl that had somehow etched itself there and keep a very neutral expression. Maybe the driver could give him some of his own personal tips. 

He nods at the driver – Michael, he said his name was – and steps towards his family’s manor. 

Louis has to crane his neck to look up at the entire bloody thing in all of its glory. 

The house is as massive as it’s always been, its expansive reddish brown brick walls always having seemed larger than life when he’d been a kid, running around and making the sprawling grounds of the estate his own little kingdom. The grey slatted roof is slanted upwards at a peak that towers over the rest of the grounds, chimneys and gables sparsely located on the roof pointing upward into the gloomy grey of the November sky above. Louis remembers lying on the grass and counting each one, squinting his left eye first and then his right to see which funnily shaped little cloud they were pointing at. 

The narrow windows are built deep within the beige trapezoidal protrusions in the flat brick walls. Through the windows, he can see that some of the off-white curtains have been pushed to the sides to presumably let in any natural light, although Louis is sure that most of the rooms are enshrouded in complete darkness and closed off to the rest of the house as they probably have been for years. 

He still remembers the gorgeous view of the grounds that he’d had from his own bedroom when he’d lived here. Louis would stand at his window every morning, bouncing on his little feet, itching to be let loose into the seemingly endless stretch of green grass and forest surrounding their corner of the estate. He remembers the utter disappointment that would claw through his heart when they’d be hit with a particularly bad bout of rain that lasted for days. 

Louis and Elizabeth had often claimed parts of the grounds as their own, weaving in and out of the beautiful gardens when they were in bloom, racing through the endless halls with shrieks tumbling out of their lips, their younger sisters toddling after them at a varying level of speed. Louis would declare himself king of the seventh guest bedroom, and Liz would shout at him because it was the best one and he can’t just claim it as his own because he’s older and faster and therefore was able to get there before her.

Their games had usually ended in tears with their nannies arriving to handle whatever feud they found themselves in the midst of, sending them off to the playroom or the nursery or their own rooms. Louis’ mother would make the rounds once she’d hear of the trouble they’d gotten themselves into and stop by to chat with each of them, offering a shoulder to cry on or a hankie to whine into. She’d pet their hair and stroke their cheeks, listening when they spoke and rambled and ranted, only interjecting with a soft-spoken word of advice that somehow acted as a balm that instantly healed all wounds the way only a mother’s voice can do.

Today, the grass is wet, and the flowers are dead. The brick walls of his family’s home loom over him, inciting a feeling of claustrophobia despite him standing out in the open field of the estate. The cobbled driveway is slippery underneath his polished shoes and the arched main entrance wards him away rather than beckon him forward.

The house has never felt less like a home to Louis. 

He walks up the front steps with his heart hammering away inside of his chest, expecting the endlessly disappointed face of his mother or the indifference of his father to greet him as he enters the foyer. 

Instead, he’s met with a footman waiting for him at attention, who bows his head briefly and greets him with a softly spoken, “Sir.” 

Louis’ shoes click sharply against the polished marble floor composed of black and white tiles and he is abruptly cast into a memory of himself at a much younger age, hopping from one tile to the next, avoiding one colour as in his mind, stepping on a white tile was akin to stepping into a puddle of lava. He pretends to himself that he doesn’t have to fight the urge to lunge so as to avoid the white tiles in his path. 

The walls of the foyer are still the same shade of light pink as they had been when Louis had left, covered with beautiful golden motifs at various intervals, towering pillars built into the walls separating each one. There are two large potted ferns located on either side of the front entrance, and several other potted. plants arranged along the sides of the walls. Two busts rest on a raised podium, one on either side of the open doorway leading into the parlour. The space is cast in swathes of dull light coming from the tall, arched windows on either side of the front entrance. 

It’s as beautiful as it’s ever been when Louis had been living here. And yet, the sight of the plants, the pink walls, the decorative motifs, makes his skin prickle uncomfortably.

He is empty handed, the footmen presumably having taken his bag straight from the car and up to his old room. Louis feels out of place in this vast house, his pressed dress shirt stretching uncomfortably at his shoulders and his grey trousers clinging to his thighs. His mother’s going to make a comment on how much weight he’s gained, he’s sure of it.

Louis stands alone in the middle of the foyer, the staff occasionally filtering out of one room and into another, passing by him as if he was just another potted plant. He’s about to walk into the parlour to look for a familiar face, when he hears footsteps approaching from the open door to his right. 

“You made it,” Elizabeth says, heels clicking against the tiled floor as she walks towards him. “I thought you’d bugger off at the last minute, to be honest.”

That stings, as she had probably intended it to, but Louis thinks it isn’t completely undeserving. He smiles tightly as she hesitates in front of him for a moment. Her blonde hair is pulled back neatly with a barrette, cascading down the length of her back. She’s wearing a teal floral dress that’s cinched loosely at her waist with a collar that rests high on her neck. Her silver watch glistens as she laces her fingers together at her front. 

“Well, are you just going to stand there, then? Come here and give me a cuddle,” she says with a quirk of her lips. Louis leans forward at the same time she does and lightly grips her elbows, brushing their cheeks together in an embrace that’s only slightly awkward. 

He hasn’t greeted anyone like that in months, not since his mother had last visited, but the familiar motion comes to him easily, having been ingrained into his very soul seemingly from his formative years of extensive etiquette training and frequent reprimanding slaps to the wrist if he forgot to lean in at the right time or embraced someone in the wrong order. 

“I’m going to assume that Mum has some sort of itinerary waiting for me and I don’t have time to nip away upstairs,” Louis jokes with a rueful smile as they part, trying to shake off the weird tension that seems to have settled over them both when they’d been preoccupied with formal greetings they hadn’t ever used with each other before. 

“No, actually. Surprisingly, she only left me with instructions to make sure you were well-rested and entertained until dinner,” Liz replies with raised eyebrows, as if she herself was surprised with these instructions which were rather uncharacteristic of their mother. 

“You sure it was our mother who told you that?” Louis asks, only half seriously. Liz, thankfully, huffs out a laugh at the remark. 

“I’m quite sure. She even managed to take a break from fretting over the lunch and drink menus to tell me,” Liz says with a wry smile, her eyes gleaming over their shared source of amusement. 

Louis grins, feeling a huge weight lift off his shoulders when their familiar banter flows between them uninterrupted by the awkwardness he’d felt earlier. He feels relieved at the thought of having at least one ally as he attempts to get through the next forty-eight hours without causing the walls to come down around their shoulders. 

“Shall we?” Liz motions towards the door she had come through. Louis nods and begins to walk alongside her brisk steps. “You’ll be staying in your old room, of course, Mum insisted. Dad thought you’d be better suited to a guest suite, but she was rather adamant. I think she misses you.”

“Well, she isn’t very good at showing it then,” Louis mutters, only a little bitterly as they ascend the staircase. The loud clicking of Liz’s shoes is heavily muffled by the blue carpeting laid over each marble step and her neatly manicured fingertips lightly brush along the bannister as they climb. 

“Give her a break, Louis,” she says, her voice having gone soft all of a sudden. “She’s not been the same since you left, you know?”

Louis sighs, already seeing how this conversation could derail in at least seven different ways before he even opens his mouth to speak. 

“Liz, come one. Give _me_ a break. I guarantee you that we’d all be ten times more miserable if I had stayed, and you lot know that as well as I do,” Louis says, the argument feeling stale with how many times he’s had to bring it up in the two years since he left home. “I’m already going to get the guilt trip from Mum very shortly, and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t start harping in on me too.” 

“Whatever you say, Louis,” Liz replies tiredly as they reach the top of the stairs, apparently having decided to end their conversation there, much to Louis’ great relief. 

Louis follows her through the familiar corridor of the west wing, large bay windows and alcoves with padded velvet cushions serving as seating interspersed throughout. He recognizes the various paintings he’d either been too young or too ignorant to really appreciate when he’d been living here. 

Right next to his favourite spot in the entirety of the house, a narrow window seat where he’d often curl up when his feet became too sore to run around or the rain had started coming down too hard for him to be outside, is an all too familiar painting that Louis had always been scared of when he was younger. It was one of the more well-known works by the famed artist Joshua Reynolds, and it was one of his parents’ most prized pieces in their art collection. 

It depicted a little girl, with wide eyes that were supposed to be guileless and pitiful but had always made Louis a little nervous the few times he’d actually paused to investigate it for more than ten seconds at a time. Her hands were clasped over her stomach, shoulders rounded and posture hunched, making her look small and harmless. But there was something that Louis couldn’t quite place about it; the background of what seemed to be the yawning entrance to a cave or the way her lips were pursed. 

Louis briefly glances at the painting as Liz strides past it, not feeling much of the uneasiness he used to feel, but more of the remorse he assumes one was meant to feel when looking at the little girl. _The Strawberry Girl_ , he knew the plaque underneath would read. 

They arrive at his room shortly after and Louis feels like he’s about to fall asleep on his feet even though he only just got here. He hopes he can get away with a quick nap before he’s meant to join the rest of his family for dinner, because he genuinely doesn’t know how he’ll manage to get through it without. 

Liz waltzes inside, the door having been propped open, probably by one of the footmen who had brought his bag up earlier, and Louis trails behind her. 

The room looks exactly as he had left it. Louis didn’t think his mother would’ve repurposed it, ever hopeful that he’d get sick of living in a flat with three other boys and return home, but he doesn’t think a single person has crossed the threshold of his room until this morning when the inch thick layer of dust must’ve been cleared away by a small army of cleaning staff. 

He feels like he’s stepping through some sort of portal into his past as he notices the four-poster bed up against the wall on the far left with longing, the numerous unnecessary pillows that he used to kick to the floor when he was a kid, and the billowy white duvet he’d shove to the end of his bed in favour of a fleece blanket looking like pure heaven right now. 

The fireplace has been lit, slowly filling up the room with waves of warmth. The golden mantel clock that had been a gift from his grandfather ticks to mark every passing second, far louder than it probably should be considering its small size. The sound is piercing amidst the heavy silence as he walks around and observes his old bedroom. Louis finds himself idly fearing that since he’s not used to the sound anymore, it’ll prevent him from falling asleep. 

He notices Liz is still standing at the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her in reminiscence of her earlier stance in the foyer, and oddly reminding Louis of their mother. She studies him with an odd look on her face, the white of her teeth peeking out as she nibbles at her lips in a habit Louis remembers she’d gotten scolded for more than once during their childhood. 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” she finally says after clearing her throat. “Someone will probably come up to get you for dinner. Don’t be late or Mum will have your head.”

“Yes, I know the drill. I have lived here for seventeen years, you know?” 

“And when have you followed any instructions during those seventeen years?” 

Louis huffs out a laugh, pointing a finger at her. “Yeah, yeah. Still have a head on my neck though, don’t I?”

“Sure, if you want to call it that,” Liz says, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a familiar smirk. “Sleep well, Louis. I’ll see you at dinner,” she trills, before turning on her heel and walking out of the room, leaving Louis standing by the fireplace with his eyebrows furrowed indignantly. 

“Fucker,” he mutters under his breath, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his itchy jacket as he stumbles his way to the bed. He flops onto the mattress, groaning softly as he feels his body sink into the softness. 

He barely manages to shuffle forward the last few inches to get his entire self situated firmly on the bed before he shuts his eyes and falls into the waiting arms of sleep. 

* * *

A soft knock at the door brings him back to wakefulness. It opens a second later, a soft but firm voice informing him through the crack that dinner will be served in twenty minutes. Louis has half a mindset on shoving his face back into his pillows and falling asleep again, but the obnoxious ticking of his stupid mantel clock that is far more noticeable when he’s not as exhausted, prevents him from doing just that. 

The door closes shut as the staff member leaves, the small sliver of light that it had let into the darkened room while it was open, vanishing in tandem. 

Louis blinks blearily, casting his eyes around his old bedroom which is now pitch black except for the weakened flickering embers in the fireplace. The sun had set at some point while he was asleep and the darkness disorients him, making him feel as if many hours have passed even though it can’t have been more than an hour at most since Lottie had left him to his own devices. 

He can’t quite make out any noise from out in the corridor, but he can imagine what kind of clamour there might be on the first floor. The kitchen staff fluttering around like busy bees, making sure the dining table was set up perfectly, white tablecloth pristine and pleated in the only way Louis’ mother would find acceptable. 

They must’ve prepared a giant feast for him, half of it being the result of his mother’s obsession with impressing each and every guest that sets foot inside of her house, regardless of the fact that this particular guest was her own son, and the other half probably having something to do with trying to remind Louis how good he could have it if he moved back home. 

The irony of the situation is not missed by Louis, who recalls every visit he’s made to his family’s home since he left this life behind two years ago being exactly the same. Apparently, his mother has yet to receive the memo that the more gaudy and unnecessarily extravagant her displays are, the more Louis wants to hightail it back to his ordinary flat in London. 

He makes his way out of bed after silently psyching himself up for the fantastic theatre act that he’s about to face downstairs very shortly. Louis is sure that his family’s theatrics could easily surpass every single one of his own students’ productions. 

Louis reaches over to turn on both his bedside lamps, each identical to the other and standing solitarily on the end tables on either side of his bed. The room is suddenly lit by the soft, yellow glow emanating from the lamps, and along with the dying fire in the fireplace, he begins to feel slightly less intimidated by the room.

He sits on the edge of his bed, his legs dangling over the side and toes curling into the soft oriental rug underneath his feet. Louis casts his gaze all over the room, from the golden trimmed cream walls to the rounded marble tables set with fresh hydrangeas and orchids from the garden. He notices that the one part of his room that he’d actively had a part in curating, his bookshelves stuffed with tomes deemed far too childish by his mother, seem to have been completely untouched, a faint layer of dust still coating their spines. 

The royal blue curtains made of the softest velvet are drawn, and in the daylight, the windows beneath them would reveal the wide expanse of the estate’s grounds that seemingly stretched on for miles. Right now, the curtains open up to display only the nearly pitch black darkness of the night. 

Louis slips out of bed and makes his way over to the singular duffel that he’d brought with him. It’s on the floor right by the matching floral patterned armchair and ottoman duo arranged in front of the fireplace. He digs through the various things he’d stuffed into it that he anticipated might be of use to him during this dreaded weekend. Three suits that he’d scrounged up from within his trunk back home; one for the day, and two evening suits, one that Louis hoped would be appropriate for the Princess’s upcoming party. Two sticks of deodorant, just in case the first stick failed him somehow. Several ties, because he was sure his mother would disapprove of at least three. His best shoes, shined to perfection by the spare rag that Louis had snagged from Liam who had previously been using it to dry their dishes. 

Along with various other essentials, such as a bag of weed that Niall had very unsubtly snuck into the hidden pocket. Louis nearly groans when he remembers the baggie’s existence, dearly praying to any deity that might be listening that none of the staff had caught a glimpse of it sitting in his bag when they’d brought it up. 

Louis quickly gets dressed in one of the evening suits that he’d packed, the fabric a slate grey with very faint cream-coloured pinstripes. His matching cream-coloured shirt is neatly tucked into his trousers, his collar folded over nicely, and his royal blue tie is tucked into his jacket. Louis styles his hair in the ensuite, making sure it’s coiffed up to look a bit like a cinnamon swirl, as Niall would point out. 

He grimaces at his own reflection in the mirror, gingerly touching his fingertips to the hardened tips of his heavily styled hair. Louis much prefers a more relaxed look, leaving his fringe to fall over his forehead in a way that he felt suited him much better and made him look less like a posh Justin Bieber wannabe. 

However, he also wants this godawful dinner to go as smoothly as possible and Louis knows that he will have to keep his mouth shut and nod along to whatever his mother wishes of him in order to achieve that.

Louis bites at his lip anxiously, his fingers fidgeting at his sides as he stares at his own reflection. He desperately tries thinking about what the lads might be doing back in the flat. It would be Niall’s turn to make dinner tonight, and he was sure that Zayn would be hovering close by to make sure he didn’t burn the whole flat down or worse, accidentally drop all of the salt into whatever dodgy thing he was cooking up in the pot. Liam would put on some music, or be sitting at the piano, loudly asking the other two for tunes they’d like him to play, always thinking about what the others might want to hear rather than what he wanted to play himself. 

The imagined scene makes Louis smile, just the thought of his boys and their usual evening routine filled with a chaos he much preferred to the chaos that was surely unfolding downstairs, keeping him calm enough to envision that he’ll make it through this dinner without his mother bursting into tears or him storming out. Both scenarios which had unfortunately happened during his previous visits. 

He finds himself desperately wishing he was back home with his friends, smack in the middle of that disorganized mess instead of the one awaiting him downstairs, hiding behind a mask of perfection.

Louis leaves his bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him quietly only to face a completely deserted corridor. The familiar faces of men and women long dead and now stuck inside the constraints of ornate golden frames stare back at him as he traverses the long corridor. The faces which used to frighten his much younger self as he’d ran up and down these halls now offer him the weirdest sense of comfort as their blank eyes following his path towards the staircase.

His feet know exactly where to go, the walls all too familiar to him and the evenly spaced chandeliers hovering above his head guiding him along the long-walked floors of the place that had once been his home.

When he arrives downstairs, one of the footmen from earlier is standing by the doorway leading into yet another corridor where the dining room would be. He nods at Louis when he walks past him and Louis pauses to offer him a smile, casting about in his mind for a name before coming to the conclusion that his parents must’ve hired entirely new staff for the house as he couldn’t for the life of him recall what the footman’s name was.

Louis walks down the corridor, which looks nearly identical to the one on the second floor except for the maroon-coloured walls etched with delicate floral motifs that had once entranced his younger self. He remembers tracing the raised outline of each stem and every petal with the tip of his finger. It had somehow managed to occupy his attention during the long hours he’d spent out in this very corridor after being cast outside for misbehaving at the dining table when they had guests over.

The memories themselves aren’t exactly comforting to Louis, but the familiar sight of the walls helps him feel less like he’s about to walk into a terrifying job interview where he’s been set up to fail from the start.

The door to the dining room has been left propped open for the convenience of the various staff who are hustling in and out of the room with precariously balanced drink trays. Louis flattens himself up against the wall when one particularly harried looking woman nearly flies past him holding a large silver platter to her chest with one hand while the other is tightly grasping a large pitcher of some sort.

He stands by the open doorway for a moment, gathering himself as a voice that suspiciously sounds like Liam’s tells him in a soft voice that everything will be alright if he just breathes.

So, Louis does exactly that. He takes a few deep breaths, straightens his jacket and shirt so it lays flat against his chest, and makes sure he hasn’t accidentally ruined the coif that he’d managed to shove his hair up into.

Then, he turns and walks straight into the room without a second thought, giving no more attention to the various excuses that float into his mind.

Louis sees his mother first, just sitting down in the chair that his father is pulling out for her. She smiles at him curtly before sitting down and then his father goes to take his own seat at the head of the table, at her right side. There’s a tension between them that makes Louis wonder idly what argument had prefaced this particular dinner.

His sisters, Elizabeth and Flora are taking their own seats across from their mother, heads bent low as they quietly discuss in hushed voices whatever topic it is that requires such a conspiratorial manner of communication. Louis’ youngest sister, Amelia, climbs into her seat next to their mother, looking particularly tiny sitting in the large chair. She’s only five, but she looks so much older than the last time Louis had seen her, which had only been a couple of months ago for her birthday.

None of them notice when Louis enters the room, so he makes his way over to the only empty seat, which just so happens to be at the other head of the table. Louis wishes to himself that he’d arrived just a bit earlier so he could have grabbed literally any other seat.

“Oh Louis, you’re here,” his mother exclaims with a delighted smile, her eyes travelling over his form in a calculating gaze as he takes his seat.

Louis clears his throat when everyone turns to look at him. “Yes, uh, here I am. Sorry if I’m late,” he says, suddenly feeling unsure of what to say to his own family.

"Nonsense, we haven’t even started yet, darling,” his mother rushes to assure him. Her eyes positively shine as she gazes at him, and Louis looks down at his plate to avoid eye contact.

“It’s good to see you, Louis,” his father says at the opposite end of the table. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve been meaning to come visit, but I’ve just been so busy with it being the start of term and everything,” Louis explains, practically seeing his parents’ faces shutter as the words leave his mouth.

His sisters go quiet and his mother lightly clears her throat. She motions for the staff to bring their first course to the table as a tense silence threatens to spread over the table before the dinner has even begun. Louis nearly slumps his shoulders in relief when the food starts going around on perfectly polished silver platters.

“How has work been, Louis? Have you gotten sick of your students yet?” Flora asks him while their mother spoons heaps of roasted potatoes onto Amelia’s plate.

“No, they’re really quite lovely, actually. I’m doing the play again this year – Snow White,” Louis replies, steadfastly ignoring the glance his parents exchange in his periphery.

“Snow White? I thought you hated fairytales?” Liz asks, her hands pausing in cutting into her food to shoot him an incredulous look.

Louis shrugs. “Yes, well. We couldn’t really afford a bigger production this year, so.” His mother tuts.

“Snow White’s been great though,” Louis rushes to correct himself even as his face flushes indignantly. “It’s traditional, easy to perform. The kids are going mental for it.”

Another concerned glance is passed between his parents across the dinner table. Louis clenches his jaw, shoving a forkful of potatoes into his mouth before he could say anything to upset the delicate peace all of them are clearly so desperate to maintain.

“Are you going to be Prince Charming, Louis?”

Louis immediately softens. Amelia looks up at him with wide eyes, as if she was already picturing him as the very Prince Charming who graces the pages of her beloved fairytale books.

“No, love, I’m too old and raggedy to be Prince Charming. But I do have a very important job. I get to help all the little ones learn their lines and make sure they don’t trip on stage,” he tells her, grinning when her eyes widen in amazement.

“You’re like the fairy godmother!”

Louis grins at her as Liz and Flora laugh from across the table. They’re quickly silenced by their mother clearing her throat and murmuring to Amelia to finish her plate.

Louis braces himself for the inevitable interrogation that he’s only been allowed the briefest of reprieves from, thanks to his sisters’ distractions.

“That’s lovely, darling. Did you manage to pick up the new suits I had Peter arrange to be tailored for you? I assumed your measurements were the same so I didn’t think you’d need to be fitted for them. They’ll be for tomorrow and the wedding as well,” his mother asks, as if she’d been cued by some invisible stage manager who resides in their dining room.

Thankfully, Louis had indeed received her memo just a few days ago and had dutifully followed her instructions to pick up his new suits from the family tailor.

“Yes, I brought one with me and the other is back at the flat for the wedding.”

Louis doesn’t miss the way his father’s jaw ticks when he mentions his flat. He goes back to chewing silently, barely tasting the potatoes as they slide down his throat.

“Good, good. You know how important tomorrow is going to be for Elizabeth, of course,” his mother says. “I’m so happy that you’re taking this so seriously, dear.”

Louis frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be taking this seriously?” Someone’s fork clatters against their plate. Flora murmurs a sheepish apology when they all turn to her.

“No reason, darling. I was just trying to make conversation,” his mother hurries to correct herself, her eyes darting away from him as she busies herself with helping Amelia cut up her food.

Louis glances at his father, who resolutely maintains his stoic expression as he looks down at his own plate, without saying a word.

The second course arrives as if perfectly timed to their random outbursts, cutting into the cloying tension that settles over the room oppressively.

Louis is just beginning to think they could get through the rest of this godawful dinner without his or either of his parents’ blood pressure rising to unhealthy levels, when his mother clears her throat again.

Her eyes are carefully averted, her focus once again on Amelia’s plate as she cuts up her salmon for her, despite Amelia’s quiet protests that she could do it herself.

“I’m very proud of you both for receiving invites to Princess Victoria’s gala tomorrow evening. I can’t think of two better people to represent our family.”

Louis and Liz share a glance from across the table as their mother evidently gathers herself for her big preparatory pep speech of the night. Making sure that they know to be on their best behaviour and subtly reminding them that anything and everything they do will come back to her at the end of the evening. 

“This is such a big honour for our family, and Elizabeth, it’ll be an incredibly important night for you especially.” Liz seems to know what she’s trying to tell her, because she drops her utensils and clenches her jaw.“Mum, I thought we agreed to wait until I’m finished with my course. I’ve only got one more term left before I graduate,” Liz says, interrupting their mother before she has a chance to go on.

Louis doesn’t have to wonder what they’re talking about for long because his mother then huffs with a small incredulous smile.

“Darling, the Ainsworths’ eldest already has a match lined up and she’s two years from graduating. It’s never too early to start putting yourself out there.”

“Yes, but tomorrow is meant for me to congratulate my childhood friend before she gets married, not to display myself like a show pony so some lord or duke or earl’s son will pay attention to me,” Liz snaps, her bright blue eyes that she shares with Louis staring fiercely back at her mother, whose jaw merely tightens at the outburst.

“Elizabeth, please refrain from speaking so vulgarly at dinner,” their father interjects, his forehead creased in a frown as he glances between his wife and his eldest daughter.

“Dad, please. I’ve still got time, you know it! I’m only twenty-one,” Liz insists sort of desperately, her eyes growing wild as she turns to their father. “Remember my friend from the club, Mary? She only got married last year and she was nearly twenty-six! It can be done—”

“Elizabeth, please,” their mother interrupts loudly. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

Liz falls silent obediently, but she maintains her defiant glare directed at their parents, her chest heaving angrily.

Louis suddenly feels guilt wash over him like an ice bucket of water has been abruptly poured over his head.

It’s his fault that his parents are pushing Liz to get married so soon. They wouldn’t even be considering it yet if it weren’t for Louis’ decision to leave behind the responsibilities that had been tacked onto his name from birth. As the eldest Tomlinson child, and the eldest son of the family nonetheless, Louis would’ve been expected to be the first to marry. Since he’d left, that responsibility had been passed onto Liz; to marry and produce the next heir to the estate. 

He can’t even look at Liz then, his hands trembling when he realizes that she won’t be able to pursue further education, or anything else she’d been planning for since her teen years, because of him. 

God, he’s been so selfish. He hadn’t even considered it for a second, always assuming that his parents would be more lenient when it came to their children’s future. Or that Liz would somehow be able to convince their parents to let her wait a few more years until she’s at least finished with her studies, which wouldn’t be uncommon at all now that they’re in the late 20th century. 

They’re both relentless though, refusing to even let her compromise. Louis watches Liz blink rapidly as she fights valiantly to keep her face from crumbling. 

“Why does it have to be her? Shouldn’t it be me who’s the first to marry?” 

Louis doesn’t realize that he’s the one who’s spoken until all eyes swivel to him. Well, shit.

His parents both seem to be at a loss for words, his father sporting an impressive frown and his mother’s mouth gaping open in a rather astounding impression of a fish. 

“You — Louis, you stepped away from your duties when you left this house,” his mother says haltingly. “You said you wanted nothing to do with any of it. You packed up your things and left in the middle of the night.” 

“Yes. I—I did do that, yeah.”

His father looks at him incredulously. “You’ve been in this house a total of three times in the past three years, Louis.” 

“Yes, I know. I’m well aware of it.”

His mother shakes her head, her lips forming words that her voice doesn’t manage to catch. 

“Then why?” she manages. 

Louis swallows. He shrugs, attempting nonchalance and probably failing miserably. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it if Liz doesn’t have to until she’s done with uni.” 

“Louis, I can’t let you do that for me,” Liz interrupts, her voice catching. “I’ve only got a term left. I’m just being dramatic.” He can’t bring himself to look at her. 

“No, it’s fine,” Louis says again, lifting his eyes from his plate to look at her, and then his parents in turn. “Really. It’s not fair to you for me to be playing at a normal life while you have to take on both your own responsibilities and mine. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t see it sooner.” 

The room falls back into silence again, but this time the next course doesn’t magically appear. Louis nervously chews on the inside of his cheek and clutches at his fork, his mind suddenly bombarded with a flurry of conflicting thoughts that he can’t quite manage to pay attention to each one. 

“We’ll discuss this later,” their father finally announces. “Let’s get on with dinner for now.” 

The third course is swiftly brought into the room by two footmen who begin to make the rounds. Louis eats silently for the rest of the meal, not meeting Liz’s eyes even when she desperately tries to get his attention. 

He can’t help but feel the guilt still settled like a lump at the pit of his stomach, at war with the needling voice in his head that’s telling him to be selfish, saying he’s essentially given up everything that he’d fought so hard for and had to be so brave to achieve. 

Louis loses his appetite completely when he realizes that agreeing to this means he’ll probably have to quit his job. 

He’ll spend the rest of his life either parading someone on his arm or being the one who is paraded, forever faking smiles in front of rich and sneering strangers, his feet stuck in the same repetitive waltz until he cannot walk anymore. 

It’s everything he had hated as a child. He’d been so repulsed by the never-ending charade of the noble families that he’d packed up his things and fled the estate in the middle of the night three years ago, leaving behind only a note for his parents. They’d tried and failed to call him back to the estate, first with coddling letters and phone calls from his mother, and then actually sending cars which would wait outside of his flat long enough that he’d have to take a back entrance to avoid them. 

Louis had been perfectly happy with his decision. He got a job that he loved and made friends who supported him. He didn’t want a single penny of his inheritance and had informed his parents as much the handful of times they’d been in contact since then. 

He’d known that his responsibilities would fall onto Liz, but he’d always assumed she would be happy to take them on. She’d always been the one out of the two of them to be more suited to their family’s lifestyle. She loved it. The extravagance, the conformity, the large parties and simpering smiles and stepping on toes. Liz had been born for it. Louis hadn’t thought for a second that she might have other dreams. Normal dreams. 

He’d been so self-absorbed that he hadn’t thought that the consequences of every decision made in a family such as theirs would ripple down to affect every other member. 

Dinner concludes without any further disturbance, and Louis is part relieved and part agitated when they’re all dismissed from the table soon after. Liz tries to accost him in the corridor, but their mother calls for her and Louis is able to escape back upstairs to his room. 

His mind swirls with a cocktail of guilt and frustration as he gets himself ready for bed. He regrets not having spent more time with his younger sisters before retiring for the evening, but he’s not sure he would’ve been the best company in his state. 

Louis lies awake in his too soft bed in his too big room long into the night. Gone is the quiet rumbling of the city — the cars and the quiet conversations outside his bedroom window. The clock sitting on the mantle ticks too loudly, sending his thoughts scurrying to and fro at a maddening pace.

He manages to fall asleep just as the light of dawn begins to peek through the horizon, wondering just how he managed to get himself so ensnared in yet another mess within hours of returning home. 


	4. III

The town car smells faintly of strong cleaner and leather. Louis feels slightly sick as it rolls to a stop at yet another red light, his fingers tightly curled around his sweat slick palms. The backseat is incredibly spacious, leaving plenty of room for Louis to stretch his legs out, the bright city lights catching on the perfect polished shine of his shoes. 

Louis turns his gaze outside in an attempt to quiet his busy mind, studying each person waiting at the junction to cross the street. A young man stands at the front of the small crowd that’s gathered as they wait for the light to change. He’s got a large pair of white headphones resting atop his blonde curls and a backpack slung over his back that looks like it weighs more than him. Louis watches as his feet gently tap along to the beat of whatever tune he’s listening to. 

Next to him is a very harassed looking middle-aged mother. She’s trying in vain to keep hold of her small daughter with one hand while she carries about four grocery bags in her other hand. Behind them is an old man whose forehead seems to have permanent creases etched into it. He tightly grasps a rolled-up newspaper in one hand while his gaze impatiently flits from one person to another. A woman in an expensive looking pantsuit presses a brick of a cellphone up against her ear, speaking into it quickly. Two boys swing their intertwined hands back and forth, both sporting identical giddy smiles.

The light changes and the crowd starts walking forward as one entity. Louis watches them go helplessly, finding himself wishing that he could step into any one of their shoes for the next few hours. 

The city is grey and wet, the bright streetlights illuminating puddles of brown water that have gathered by the sewer drains. The streets of London are lit with that familiar dull glow after a particularly stubborn bout of rain that leaves behind overcast skies and a brisk chill. The buses quickly pile up with people as everyone hurries to get home, and stragglers rush to squeeze themselves inside before the doors swing shut. 

Louis thinks about what he might be doing if he wasn’t in this sleek town car, minutes away from arriving at the royal family’s famed London residence. It’s a Saturday, so Niall would be wheedling at them to go out while Zayn argues in favour of a night in since it’s so dreary outside. Liam would be trying his hardest to placate them both, although they all know very well that he would side with Zayn in the end. Niall would eventually relent and end up enjoying himself far more than the others as they pass around a joint and mess around instead of watching whatever film they’d rented for the weekend. 

It feels like it’s been weeks since he saw them last even though it hasn’t even been more than a day at most. When Louis had left his flat yesterday, he’d been preparing for an utterly exhausting weekend. He knew it was going to be a pain in the arse and his parents would be difficult, but he’d agreed for his sister and the last thing he wanted was to let her down. The thought of returning at the end of it to the life that he’d worked so hard to build since he left had kept his spirits up, even through the majority of last night’s dinner before it all went to shit.

Now, Louis thinks he’d be lucky if his parents let him finish teaching this term, let alone keep his job for the near future. 

The conversation that had followed the debacle of a dinner they’d had the evening before had been — enlightening to say the least. 

Louis’ father had summoned both him and Elizabeth to his study after Louis had decided he was going to feign illness and stay in bed to avoid his family until the gala would force his hand. He’d gotten dressed and traipsed through the winding corridors, the path to his father’s study very familiar to him after years spent trying to sneak inside and snoop around on dares from Liz and Flora. Liz had met him outside of the door, her eyes shrouded with worry and guilt that Louis was sure she would see mirrored within his own. 

Their father had called them both in and Louis followed Liz inside, feeling very much like a schoolchild about to be scolded by his headmaster, despite having never experienced such a thing himself. Their father had a large tome opened up in front of him, and various sheets of paper strewn about on his massive mahogany desk. As a child, Louis had always wondered why one man needed such a big desk all to himself.

The discussion that they’d had was more of a lecture and as Louis had anticipated, a scolding, instead of an actual conversation. Louis had been reminded exactly how much he’d disappointed the family with his impulsive decision to leave, but that they were glad that he’d seen the “wrongs” of his choice even if it was three years too late. Too late for what, Louis had wanted to ask.

Liz had been told that she was being hasty and that pursuing higher education was just something that families “like theirs” did not need. 

“Isn’t that nice, Elizabeth? It’s completely unnecessary to have to spend hours in the library and overexert yourself with studies and examinations. You could do whatever you’d like when you’re married to someone of good standing. See your mother? Hasn’t worried about a single thing since we got married,” their father had very unsubtly boasted. Louis and Liz had barely refrained from sharing a particularly incredulous look at that. It was extremely difficult for Louis to find even a single word of validity in that statement. 

The part of their father’s spiel that had probably been the primary reason behind this whole orchestrated serious discussion was what had settled within Louis like a heavy stone. He’d said it in hushed tones, presumably so none of the other residents of the house would hear, but its implications were loud enough to echo within Louis’ ears long after they’d been dismissed from the study.

“Essentially, we’re contemplating bankruptcy. We simply do not have the money to maintain a house of this size, let alone this estate.”

Louis had learned that it meant he would’ve had to come back and take over his old duties anyway, and his parents had just been looking for a way to tell him for months now. It meant that both he and Liz would have to marry, and soon, if they even wanted their family to be able to afford a house half the size of this one. And if neither of them was able to find themselves a good match, the family was at risk of losing their place on the estate itself. 

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter whether Louis retained his title as heir, because Liz would have to marry right after she graduated anyways. 

The words ring in Louis’ ears even hours after he’d left his father’s study. Neither Louis nor Liz had spoken to each other about it, both resigned to what was expected of them in order to maintain their family’s honourable status within British high society. 

Louis can’t decide whether to feel furious at himself for his own naivety or darkly amused that the system that he had so desperately tried to shake off for years had still somehow managed to ensnare him in the end. 

He’d moped in his room for the rest of the day, refusing to make polite conversation with his parents when he felt like he would rather scoop his own eyeballs out with a melon baller. Louis had buried himself underneath the covers, the maddeningly loud ticking of his mantle clock slowly driving him up the wall along with his own rapidly unravelling thoughts. He’d eventually ended up crying on the phone to Liam, feeling overwhelmingly sad as the realization that his life had completely been flipped upside down practically overnight finally began to hit him.

Liam had tried his best to reassure him that everything would be alright. That they’ll all still remain friends no matter what, and that Louis will eventually be okay with where he ended up. None of it had made Louis feel any better. Rather, it made him feel penultimately worse, but he’d tuned out the words themselves, focusing on the low timbre of Liam’s familiar, soothing voice and the subtle inflections in his speech that Louis must’ve heard thousands of times in the past few years. 

When he’d hung up an hour later, he didn’t feel like flinging his grandfather’s stupid mantle clock at the window, so Louis had felt like that was a pretty big win for him. 

He’d spent the last few hours before he had to get ready for the gala with his youngest sisters, who were blissfully unaware of their family’s dire situation, although Louis strongly suspected that Flora had started to clue in on the fact that things were very much not alright. She hadn’t asked him about it directly, but he caught her frowning at him if he hesitated too long when responding to something Amelia had said. 

He hadn’t spoken to his parents since their conversation in the study, partly because they’d both been out of sight for most of the day, but mostly because Louis just didn’t care enough to go seek them out. Instead, Louis had tried to focus on the present, something he hadn’t had a problem with doing before, busying himself with playing tea party with Amelia and discussing how Flora could improve the pranks she’d taken to playing on her poor tutors. 

The car had arrived to pick them up not long after, its sleek black exterior parked in front of the manor and visible through the large windows in the foyer. A stoic-faced driver had held the door open for Louis and Liz while they’d climbed inside, Louis being very careful not to step on the train of his sister’s gorgeous gown. 

They’d pulled away from the curb, and the tight knot that had been building in Louis’ stomach since last night’s dinner slowly started to ebb away as the imposing figure of the manor grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. It was temporary, and Louis would be back very soon, but for the moment, he didn’t feel as if he belonged to the manor. He could be free, in the limited capacity that he would be able to be within the royal palace, but still free. At least those walls wouldn’t stalk him like the ones that made up his very home. 

Once they arrive at the palace, he shares a nervous glance with Liz, who looks about two seconds away from passing out before she even steps out of the car. He shoots her what he hopes is a reassuring look. The role of big brother is one that is surprisingly easy for him to step back into and one that he has missed quite a bit. 

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to be worried about, yeah? You’re an old hat at this,” Louis says softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to wow them all. Even the Queen herself.”

Liz smiles gratefully at him, her eyes a bit weary as she squeezes his hand back. The door on Louis’ side of the car opens and he steps out, straightening his jacket as he stands. He reaches back inside when Liz starts to follow him out, giving her his arm to hold onto. 

There are guests similarly dressed to the nines being led inside of the palace, various guards and palace staff patiently gathering them all up to escort them safely inside. The palace itself is enormous, at least four times bigger than the manor. Louis vaguely recalls from his lessons that the building is shaped like the letter U, with its main structure having been built from stone from the quarries in Bath. He hasn’t visited the palace in person since he was very young, but it seems just as surreal and a thing straight out of his childhood dreams even now. 

White walls loom over them, evenly spaced windows curtained and shut away from any prying eyes. Unlike the manor, however, these walls aren’t as menacing. Definitely intimidating, but Louis figures that’s to be expected with the royal family’s primary residence in the capital. Towering pillars support an intricately carved stone roof, making up a structure that looks very Grecian, at the grand entrance of the palace.

They are led through the entrance, neither of them unable to keep their eyes from drinking in the grandeur of the royal palace. Louis feels Liz tightly gripping his arm, and he knows he’s meant to be the one leading the two of them forward, but somehow it feels more like she’s the one dragging him along. 

The entrance hall is bustling when they arrive. Various guests stand around, clasping hands politely and smiling at one another curtly. Some of the women are wearing the weird little hats that Louis knows his mother must have a collection of buried somewhere in her giant closet, but most are not. There are many older couples, many of them Louis’s parents’ age. Lots of them have brought their children as well, most of them young men and women around Liz’s age by the looks of them. 

There are a few people that Louis recognizes from the numerous dinner and garden parties he’s had to endure while he’d still been living at the manor as a boy, but he turns his face away before anyone could come to greet them. His mother would have an absolute fit if she were here to see him, but she isn’t here and Louis doesn’t feel an inkling of guilt for ignoring the lot of them. 

Liz seems to be on the same page as him, but she looks far more nervous than he feels. They manage to linger in the entrance hall, avoiding the small mingling crowd fairly effectively. Louis snatches a flute of champagne from a waiter passing by and cradles it as if to ward off any unwanted guests. 

The hall itself is utterly breathtaking. Louis feels sort of like he’s just stepped into the past, back when ballroom dancing was a thing and people would carry around those little dance cards. Although modern nobility wasn’t too far off from what it had been centuries ago, some things definitely had begun to change for the better. 

The stone ceilings arch widely over their heads, leaving twinkling chandeliers teasing their crystals with every movement. The walls are white with golden motifs, small alcoves built into them at intervals with beautiful marble statues regally posed within. There are a few paintings that have been hung up around the hall, some depicting members of royalty that are long gone and others depicting scenes of triumph and patriotism. Tall marble columns, similar to the ones standing outside, have been built in clusters of three around the edges of the protruding walls. The ground is entirely covered in a deep red carpet that makes one feel as if they are stepping onto sheets of the finest velvet. 

Louis feels a bit overwhelmed as he simultaneously attempts to take in his surroundings while avoiding the vulture-like gaze of his mother’s friends. He discreetly wipes his drenched palms against the thighs of his pants, grateful that the fabric is very dark, and the stains won’t show so drastically. 

Liz, apparently having overcome her initial awkwardness, begins to crane her neck, clearly trying to spot out any familiar faces. Louis has seen at least four since they’d arrived. 

“Come on, Louis. We need to show our faces to at least a few people from Mum’s parties. It’s only polite,” Liz urges, gently tugging him forward with the hand she’s tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Louis stands firmly, not letting her move them forward very far. “What if I just stayed here? Scout the area, maybe. You go socialize like the lovely little socialite that you are, love,” he says, trying to slide his elbow out of her grasp. 

She raises a single, perfectly threaded eyebrow at him. Louis sighs, his shoulders slumping a bit in defeat before one of her sharp nails begins to prod at his arm.

“Posture, Louis! Posture!” Liz whisper shouts at him. “I’m sure your primary school children are more well-behaved than you are. God, the dramatics.”

Louis frowns. “I resent that! It’s not my fault if these posh arseholes’ idea of well-behaved is acting like a corpse. Even that bloody potted plant looks more alive than half the people in this room.” That comment earns a shocked glance from an elderly woman who had unfortunately come to stand near them. Liz’s eyes widen as she shoots her an apologetic look.

Liz sighs rather explosively, curling her fingers around his elbow and dragging him into the throngs of the crowd. “Well, you’re going to have to be your best corpse self tonight, or else Mum will have both our heads on a platter.”

“Both our heads on one platter? Wow, she’s going to need a big fucking platter.”

“Shut the fuck up. And stop swearing, god.”

Liz somehow manages to catch the eye of a small circle of elderly women standing by one of the clusters of columns. They coo at her and look her up and down with beady little eyes, hands reaching out to touch some part of her. Louis stands there as Liz is practically engulfed by the ladies, fiddling awkwardly with the hem of his suit jacket. 

“Oh, darling, you look so lovely! It’s only a matter of time before someone snatches you up,” one of them practically cackles, her sharp red claws holding onto Liz’s shoulder proprietarily. This encourages the rest of them to gasp and laugh like the pack of hyenas they are, though whatever the joke was had completely gone over Louis’ head.

“Is there anyone in particular you’ve got an eye on?” One of them leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, her eyes gleaming at the potential of gathering the latest gossip to surely share in spades at whatever society event she was already scheduling in her mind.

Liz flounders for the first time. “Oh, I—”

A plump woman in a garish yellow skirt gasps loudly then, pressing a hand with a gaudy ring on each finger to her chest. 

“Darling, you are in such luck,” she enthuses, her overlined lips falling open exaggeratedly. “I’ve heard that Her Majesty is looking to find a match for the prince this year,” she says, waggling her pencilled eyebrows obnoxiously.

Liz flushes, gaping at the women who cackle at her expression. Louis feels sorry for her and places what he hopes is a reassuring hand on her upper back in support. 

“Oh, look at her! A beautiful blushing bride already,” a lady across from them in the circle coos, wearing a bright red dress that would have otherwise looked lovely if it weren’t for the large yellow polka dots scattered all over the fabric. 

“You could be a proper princess, dear! How very romantic!” A woman wearing what looks like a tightly coiled purple feather boa as a hat gushes, her cheeks flushed red as she drains the champagne in her glass.

Louis doesn’t know how to tell them that between the two of them, they’d probably spoken about two words to the Prince of Wales since they were children. He tries to usher Liz away, but he can’t seem to move his feet, the combined power of the vultures somehow forcing both of them to remain in place.

They both endure an alarming twenty further minutes of conversation, if it could even be classified as that, with the harpies, before they’re able to extricate themselves with their respectability somewhat intact but their dignity having vacated the premises some fifteen minutes earlier. Louis is exhausted and the evening has barely started.

This time, both himself and Liz snag flutes of champagne when the trays come round again. Louis supposes that they are well deserving of it. 

They get bored rather quickly, and while Louis knows that they were supposed to use this gala as an opportunity to introduce themselves to other well-to-do socialites their age in order to find a match and get happily married off like their parents clearly dream of them doing, he can’t bring himself to be bothered by it. It’s not like he’ll have much of a choice when it boils down to it, and his parents will probably have the final say anyway.

Louis and Liz hide away from view by one of the alcoves, Louis feeling the slightest buzz from the champagne and Liz swatting at him every time he slumps his shoulders or scuffs his shiny shoes. He feels sort of like his mum has tagged along, except if she was actually capable of having fun and not looking at Louis like he was about to fade away into dust in the next thirty seconds.

It’s not as terrible as Louis had anticipated it would be, but he finds himself holding his breath anyway since the royals haven’t even arrived yet. Liz begins to tell him about the small projects that have been left under her responsibility while their parents’ focus has turned to making sense of their finances and keeping it all under wraps, when the low murmuring of the guests abruptly fades away as a hush falls over the room.

Louis and Liz are too far at the back to hear what’s going on, but Louis thinks he can hear the faint but authoritative murmur of a man’s voice at the front of the crowd. They all start walking forward, presumably to follow the man. Louis and Liz share a confused look and quickly follow the rest of them as they make their way down the hall.

They are led through another, even more, grand room, this one with two large fireplaces along the side wall, beautiful paintings that Louis has only ever seen in history books lining the walls, and vaulted ceilings arching up over their heads. Louis holds his arm out for Liz to hold onto as they walk, although she ends up doing most of the leading as he cranes his neck all around, his eyes trying to take in every little detail, knowing he probably will never step foot back here.

The group filters through another, narrower corridor and Louis sees a set of gates at the far end that the people at the front of the crowd have already begun to walk through. The murmurs have reached an excited fever pitch as everyone is ushered through the gates. Louis feels Liz’s grip tighten around his elbow as they walk through, one of the last ones to do so.

Louis’ breath catches as soon as he steps outside. The gardens are vast and beautiful, the perimeter strung up with strings of twinkling lights and round tables draped in silky white cloth scattered all over the freshly cut lawn. There’s a military band off to one side, playing a selection of classical tunes, adding to the carefully curated ambience of the evening. Various marquees have been set up a bit further in, each with various stations set up for finger foods and little desserts that already have people lining up to grab a quick bite.

The sky above them has dimmed to a gorgeous mix of pinks, blues and oranges, the colours streaking across the sky as if meticulously painted by an artist with a particularly careful eye. The faint outline of the moon peeks out in the distance, just visible enough to be seen by anyone who was really looking.

Some of the guests have already made their way to the round tables, sitting down as waiters carrying more trays of champagne make their rounds. Others are scattered all over the lawn, continuing to mingle with their fellow guests and various other royal insiders. Everyone else has already lined up at the marquees. Louis amusedly notices that the queues have already begun to snake around some of the tables.

He’s about to pull Liz over to the marquee that seems to be serving some sort of little pastry dish that looks rather delicious on the plate of one of the vulture ladies who’s managed to snag one before the rest of them, when Liz beats him to it by subtly dragging him over to one of the tables near the centre of the gardens.

Louis goes without protest, glad that at least he’d be able to sit down for a second while Liz does whatever she needs to do for the rest of the evening. Just as they are about to take their seats, however, the familiar notes of the national anthem begin to sound, and everyone clamours to their feet.

Louis nearly rolls his eyes, as he stands. Of course, just as his arse was about to graze his seat. Not surprising at all.

Another hush falls over the crowd, and they all turn to the gates they’d walked through minutes earlier.

Once the anthem comes to an end, the gates swing open, and the Queen steps through. She looks exactly as regal and authoritative as all the pictures that Louis has seen of her, but there’s a hint of delighted kindness in her eyes that the photos seem to miss. She looks genuinely pleased to see all of them and walks forward without any reluctance, her hand placed in the crook of her husband, the Duke’s elbow, who looks equally if not more delighted.

Louis notices that the guests have started arranging themselves into formation in order to greet the royals. Liz pulls him in between one of the vulture ladies from the unfortunate moment earlier and an older gentleman who reminds Louis of one of his terribly boring tutors from his childhood.

The royals make their way down the line, accompanied by a stiff-looking man who announces each guest to them. Liz is nearly beside herself, wringing her hands where she stands next to him.

“Relax,” Louis whispers to her, the royals now only about seven people away from them. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Liz scoffs quietly. “Easy for you to say. You don’t give a shit.” She receives a faintly scandalous glare from the vulture standing to her right. Liz barely spares her a glance this time.

“Yeah, exactly. Stop giving a shit. They’re just here to kiss the Queen’s ass, just like the rest of us.”

Liz looks at him incredulously, before hurriedly schooling her features into a neutral expression, very much aware of their proximity to the royals. “It’s the Queen of England, Louis! I think I’m allowed to be losing my shit a little.”

Louis would never admit it out loud, but he begins to feel his palms get a bit sweaty as the Queen and Duke make their way closer to them both. He feels like he’s suddenly forgotten every etiquette lesson that he has ever learned from his stupid tutors. Oh god.

And then there they are. The man announces them both, and then Louis bows, only a little awkwardly, while Liz curtseys gracefully as ever. The Queen holds her gloved hand out daintily, and they both take turns delicately grasping it in a loose handshake. Louis hopes his palm sweat didn’t rub off on her surely very expensive gloves.

“It is lovely to see you both again,” Queen Mary says softly, smiling at them both when they stand. “I haven’t spoken to your mother in months, it feels like.”

Louis sort of stands there and gapes, not knowing how to respond. Thankfully, Liz is the more socially apt one of them both and quickly takes over for him.

“She has been quite overwhelmed with her charity work, Your Majesty. I’m sure she would be very grateful to hear that you are thinking of her,” Liz replies, her voice prim and exceptionally posh in stark contrast to her earlier tone of jest that she had taken with Louis. He notices that Liz was very careful not to mention the estate or their home at all, both of them knowing it would be less than ideal for the Queen to learn of their precarious situation.

“I hear you are to be graduating soon, my dear,” Queen Mary continues, after a polite nod of acknowledgement to Liz’s response.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The ceremony has been arranged for the first week of March.”

“Hopefully, we’ll be lining up for a feast at your own wedding very soon,” the Duke chimes in with a jaunty chuckle, the Queen laughing pleasantly at his remark. Louis and Liz nervously laugh along with them both, terrified about somehow reacting incorrectly. They seem to have done fine though, as the sky doesn’t suddenly give way and fall on their heads and the ground remains pretty firm beneath their feet. All is well.

“It was lovely to see you both,” Queen Mary finally says to end their brief conversation. They both bow and curtsey once again, each murmuring some variation of “Your Majesties” as the Queen takes her husband’s arm once again and continues down the line to speak with the vulture on Liz’s other side.

Louis and Liz both sag, only slightly, in relief, when the royals have moved on far enough so they aren’t in their periphery. Louis would never admit it, but he feels as though his palms dripping with sweat onto the grass below. He brushes them against his thighs, hoping, but not really caring, whether anyone was paying him any attention.

Liz tugs at his arm again, pulling him over to one of the marquees as the queue begins to disperse. The royals make their way across the lawn where another group of guests have begun to line up to greet them, while everyone else makes haste to their tables for drinks or to grab a plate of food with their hands shaking only a little in exhilaration after having met the Queen and Duke.

“Did I come off as stand-offish?” Liz suddenly asks him once they’ve once again queued up, except now to grab a bite to eat rather than shake hands with the Queen. “Did I sound passive aggressive when I said Mum had been busy? Oh god. Did I just insult the Queen of England, Louis? Fuck, Mum is going to have my head.”

“Jesus, relax, will you?” Louis mutters as they draw closer to the table filled with gorgeous little treats wrapped in the loveliest coloured paper. “You did fine, Liz. Be thankful you at least didn’t sweat on her gloves like I did.”

Liz’s jaw drops open, her eyes widening as she looks at him incredulously. “You did what?”

“It’s nothing that won’t wash off. S’just sweat, not like I’m radioactive or summat,” Louis says with a huff.

“Louis, you just wiped off your sweat on the _Queen’s gloves_.”

He narrows his eyes as he considers this for a second.

“Alright, maybe it’s bad.”

Liz groans, shaking her head and probably regretting every decision she has made in her life that has led to this point.

“Not the worst thing I’ve ever done, though,” Louis shrugs, thinking of multiple drunken mishaps that it was probably for the best that Liz was never privy to.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” Liz mutters.

They finally reach the table set up with tiny goodies underneath the overhanging. Louis grabs a small plate and loads it up with the smallest and most colourful-looking things he can find. Liz swats at his hand when he begins to pile them on top of each other like some sort of half-arsed pyramid, but Louis thinks that he deserves to try at least one of each for all the trouble he’s gone to.

They make their way back to the table, thankfully avoiding any more awkward interactions with people who have not seen him since he was still in nappies. Louis is all sat down, finally comfortable and with a plate of tiny foods in front of him when the band starts playing some sort of march.

Everyone stands once again, all of a sudden. Louis wants to cry.

Liz tugs him up, not very gently this time. He stands next to her, staring forlornly at his tiny foods.

The guards throw the gates wide open, and the crowd falls quiet, the crescendo of the band growing louder and louder in contrast. Louis finds himself glancing away from his plate and craning his neck along with all the other guests.

Out walks a beautiful young woman, her gloved hand grasping a tall man’s arm as they step out into the gardens as one. She’s wearing a flowing pale pink dress with a jewelled belt that lightly cinches at her waist. The sleeves are short and also made of the same delicate material as her skirt, fluttering away from her upper arm as she walks. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders and a sparkling tiara sits atop her head.

The man next to her is dressed in a dark suit, looking more formally dressed than anyone else at the party. He reminds Louis of some poor lad from the times where plagues were a regular occurrence and every man’s hair contained more grease to lay it flat than what ran inside of a car. He doesn’t look bad, just exactly what one would picture when they imagined what kind of person a princess might marry.

Princess Victoria smiles serenely at all the guests gathered in her honour. She looks the very picture of regality, a mirror image of her mother.

A light smattering of applause washes over the crowd as she and her fiancé, an Earl, Louis thinks Liz had told him earlier, stiffly wave at their guests. The band begins to play once again, and everyone resumes what they had been doing before the princess had walked in, although slightly more on edge as the couple begins making their rounds.

Liz is restless where she sits next to Louis at their table, barely touching her food as she subtly eyes the princess and her fiancé, who have now reached the Queen and the Duke and are conversing with them in low tones. Some of the guests have already started making their way up to the couple, eager to greet and be acknowledged by them.

Louis on the other hand, could not be less bothered. He bites into a tiny sky blue coloured macaroon, dotted with little golden flakes. The filling inside is delightful, causing an explosion of sweetness to erupt on his tongue. He happily shoves the rest of it into his mouth, reaching for another one, this time in a deep emerald green colour.

He jolts when a sharp elbow nudges at his ribs. Louis frowns and looks away from his macaroons, indignantly glaring at a very haughty-looking Liz.

“What is your problem?”

Liz rolls her eyes at him, looking half ready to leave him at the table to be by himself, something which Louis would definitely not argue against.

“You do realize what we came here for, yes?”

Louis slowly chews the macaroon still inside his mouth. “Yes. For me to accompany you to the princess’ gala, which I have already accomplished very successfully. You’re very welcome for that by the way.”

Liz sighs, the exasperation rolling off of her in waves. “Should’ve brought Flora instead, my god. You’re such an idiot.”

“Thanks. Glad to be appreciated for my service,” Louis retorts cheekily, swallowing his mouthful of sweets. He reaches for a small, flaky chocolate croissant, marvelling that it’s still hot to the touch. Louis briefly wonders how they’ve managed that, but he supposes the queen would only have the best catered tiny foods for her only daughter’s wedding gala.

“You stay here. Do not even think about getting up,” Liz says sternly, daintily wiping off her hands on a pristine fabric napkin. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“I highly doubt that,” Louis scoffs under his breath. “Won’t even move a single one of my arse cheeks, promise!” he says earnestly to Liz when she shoots him a dark look at the comment.

She shakes her head, muttering something along the lines of “Don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” before pushing her chair back and gathering her skirts delicately in one gloved hand. Louis watches her maneuver her way past chairs pulled out on the grass in their occupants’ haste to reach the royals, and empty tables, slowly joining the ever-expanding throng of guests surrounding the newly presented couple.

Louis eyes his empty plate forlornly. He very stubbornly ignores one of the boys a few tables over who has been making eyes at him ever since he had sat down with his sweets, even though a persistent voice that sounds far too much like his mother tells him that he won’t get a better opportunity than this to find a “good match” for himself, or whatever else the fuck they want.

He knows it would probably make the rest of his life far more easygoing than it already will be, what with the abundant inheritance that is once again attached to his name, if he was the one doing the choosing of who he would be spending the rest of his life with. But he can’t seem to care that much, honestly. Louis figures that either he’ll meet someone tolerable soon enough or his parents will set him up with someone they deem suitable for their needs, and that will be that.

It’s no matter, Louis has had enough time to deal with it and he refuses to be miserable about it for longer than he already has been.

He thinks of some of his students who arrive at school hungry and without having had breakfast, because their parents had wanted them to have a lunch and having both meals wasn’t a possibility. He remembers how a mother had broken down into exhausted tears as she’d explained to him that her son wouldn’t be able to join his class on their trip to the theatre, because she simply could not afford to pay for a ticket.

Louis thinks of all this and knows that his situation is nowhere near as dire as millions of people in this city alone. He refuses to be miserable about having to marry someone he might be indifferent to, someone he could easily go without seeing for months at a time if it came to that, living on different properties and with their own lovers during the rest of the time. Louis knows that’s not the case for people who might literally be unable to leave abusive relationships for financial reasons, or for people who need to live with their ex past their separation because they cannot afford their own place.

So, he allows himself to feel disappointed, as anyone would feel, but Louis refuses the feelings of despair to cloud his mind. It’s not very productive to think that way, and it’s even more glaring now that Louis has gotten a fair bit of perspective on his situation after years of being distanced from the sheltered life of those in high society.

Louis knows that he’ll be married off soon, he is very much aware of it, not very happy about it, but growing to accept the fact of it, but there is not a chance in hell that he’s going to entertain the snobby boy sitting at that table. Not even if he was his last option.

Since everyone is so busy trying to capture the attention of the bride and bridegroom-to-be, the marquees have nearly been deserted. Louis eyes the pastry tent eagerly, thinking of that green macaroon.

Suddenly, Louis notices movement from out of the corner of his eye. None of the other guests seem to notice, but the guards move towards the gates once again. Louis frowns, looking back towards the gardens and quickly spotting all three royals and one royal to-be gathered at the centre of a very adoring crowd of their guests. No one seems to be amiss.

The gates swing open, except this time, there is no fanfare, no special song being played by the band in announcement, and no queue of guests lining up by the dozens.

The Prince of Wales steps out onto the grass, looking very disinterested by his surroundings. He has his hands clasped behind him, long legs carrying him far after only a few steps.

He’s wearing a dark blue suit, very unlike anything the other guests are wearing. It’s made of an odd material that shimmers in the twinkling lights in the garden whenever he shifts. Louis thinks he can make out subtle floral patterns in the fabric when the light hits it. His dark hair frames his face in delicate ringlets, curling at the base of his angular jaw. He looks exactly like what little girls would imagine their Prince Charming to look like, but also the complete opposite.

The guards bow to him, and Louis thinks he won’t even acknowledge them. He looks exactly like one of those typical members of the ever-fucked noble class. The ones who look down their nose at whoever they deem to be below them, even though they themselves are some of the lowliest creatures Louis has ever come across.

To Louis’ complete surprise, however, the prince suddenly turns to the guard on his left, his cheeks dimpling as he reaches out a hand for the guard to shake. They exchange a few words, the guard easing from his stiff stance very quickly and even chuckling at something the prince says. He nods politely and turns to the guard on the right, greeting him in exactly the same way.

Louis finds himself feeling a bit embarrassed and more than a bit taken aback as the prince makes his way further into the gardens, dexterously avoiding the clump of people around his family and making a beeline for the food tents all the way at the other end of the lawn.

Huh. How confusing, Louis thinks as he watches the staff flip out a little bit when the prince stops under their marquee, offering them all a wide smile as he requests a plate – of macaroons.

Louis narrows his eyes at the scene. There better be green ones left for him.

The prince turns away from the marquee, gently cradling his plate of sweets with one large hand. He nearly runs over a tiny old lady who had been standing right behind him, completely unaware that she’d been waiting in the queue behind the Prince of Wales himself.

She nearly topples over, but he catches her elbow with his free hand just in time. His eyes grow wide, mouth falling open as he apologizes profusely to her, eyebrows drawn into his forehead as he looks her over in concern. The lady chuckles at him, patting him softly on the cheek before stealing one of the macaroons off his plate and ambling away slowly, leaning her weight heavily on her cane as she goes.

The prince watches her go, a vaguely bewildered look on his face that he quickly schools into that neutral expression he’d worn when he’d first stepped through the gate. Louis watches as the prince slips past one of the servers and into the maze of tall, well-groomed hedges beyond the lawn where the rest of the party has gathered.

Louis blinks. He turns once again towards the crowd which shows no signs of dissipating anytime soon. Liz has somehow squeezed her way into the middle of the crowd, and Princess Victoria seems to have spotted her, if the way her pleasant smile breaks out into a wide grin is an indicator of anything. Louis thinks Liz won’t be requiring his presence anytime soon.

He sits very still for just a moment longer, contemplating the delicious macaroons and an extremely confusing prince who seems to have just vanished into the surrounding hedges.

Louis pushes his chair back and stands, his curiosity easily winning the internal struggle. He walks past the marquees and heads into the maze of shrubbery surrounding the lawn, trying to recall how exactly the prince had gotten through.

He slips into the greenery, not having a clue as to what the fuck he was planning on doing, but finding that he didn’t care enough to turn back now.


	5. IV

Louis slips past the edges of the grandly decorated garden, the loud chattering of the party guests quickly fading out into a low murmur as he enters the maze of surrounding hedges. He walks quickly, his feet taking him further before his mind could come up with actual thoughts and force him to reconsider what the fuck he was doing.

The evening air is crisp and cool, lingering just on the right side of brisk. The sky has started to darken in earnest, the swathes of colours from earlier swirling into an inky purple as dusk fast approaches. Despite the chill outside, Louis feels almost too warm in his formal attire, his palms starting to sweat and the back of his neck prickling with goosebumps as the breeze cools his damp skin.

He doesn’t have the faintest idea where he’s going, and the rustling of the leaves in the wind throws him for a loop. Louis knows this is probably a really bad idea. The prince definitely wants nothing to do with anyone at the moment, let alone Louis, but Louis is bored and when he’s bored, he tends to do questionable things. So, he continues on.

A few twisting turns later, the walls of greenery give way to a winding stone path with flowers in full bloom on either side. Louis notices sprigs of lavender, giant red roses, tulips in bright yellow and orange, and even hydrangeas just like the ones that they grew back at the manor. He lightly reaches out to brush his fingertips against the flowers as he walks past them, the delicate petals soft underneath his fingers.

The path is made of cobbled stone, with bits of fuzzy green moss growing over it in some places. Louis briefly worries that he might slip over it and fall over, his shoes not exactly designed to keep one in place when trying to walk over wet rocks, but he manages to keep himself steady.

He walks on, nearly forgetting his earlier objective as he begins to enjoy the sound of the creatures of the night making themselves known. The faint buzzing of the bumblebees gives way to the crickets chirping out their nightly mating calls. Birds tweet softly at one another as they fly off in search of their nests.

Louis had always felt more in tune with himself when he was outside. When he was younger, he would run around all over whenever he felt like it, playing footie if the weather allowed it or just rolling around in the grass, not a worry in his mind about getting his hands dirty. Being outside in the grounds was an easy fix to the cooped up claustrophobic feeling that one often started to feel inside of the manor, even though it consisted of dozens of rooms and enough corridors to get lost in. It was a feeling that had bled over into his adulthood as well, just before he had left.

Now, Louis just loves being surrounded by nature. Maybe it’s the constant reminder it provides that he does indeed belong somewhere and that there are other things that are alive in this world that matter other than the unnecessarily gigantic importance that’s placed on the easily dismissible lives of those in high society. Or maybe it’s just the fresh air and the bright colours that no fancy paint could ever properly do justice for. Whatever the reason for it may be, Louis love being in nature. Sometimes he thinks he was a nymph in a past life.

The stone path grows a bit wider, and the bushes of flowers on either side of it start arching high over his head as their stems intertwine with a metal wire fashioned into an arch. The flowers are pink and plenty among the leaves that make up the curved arch, and Louis thinks that it must look utterly breathtaking in daylight.

He feels a bit like he’s walking towards some sort of wedding altar as he makes his way further through, the floral arch extending above the path as he walks. At the end of the path, there is a lone wooden bench, looking like something out of a storybook. Small and brown, with just enough space for two people to sit next to each other, side by side.

At the very centre of the bench, the prince sits very primly, one leg crossed over the other. He has a small paper plate carefully balanced on one pointed knee, a singular macaroon sitting on top of it. His mouth works almost frantically as he chews on the macaroon that he’s just shoved into his mouth, his chin dusted with green crumbs. He hasn’t noticed Louis yet and continues to chew, completely oblivious to his presence.

For a second, Louis thinks he’s stumbled into a stranger from the party. Just another lad like himself, having gotten his hands on some delicious sweets and looking for an escape from the stuffy crowd. Because there is no way that this is the Prince of Wales.

Perhaps this boy is an imposter or a forgotten twin. Louis stares at him as he sticks his tongue out first before stuffing another green macaroon into his mouth. What a weird fucking way to eat. Louis doesn’t think he’s seen any other person consume food in that way.

Louis is more than a little bewildered, to say the least. He doesn’t really know how to react to the situation, whether he should make himself known somehow or turn around and leave. Louis figures this is what he came for, after all, to see what the prince was up to, sneaking away from his own sister’s engagement gala so quickly after just barely making his presence known, so he decides to stay, his curiosity once again besting any and all rational thought.

Then he is faced with the dilemma of _how_ he should announce his presence. Should he bow? Does he have to address the prince formally or is it fine to refer to him by his given name? Oh god, does Louis even remember his first name?

The prince looks up just then, effectively halting all of Louis’ thoughts. He looks very startled, his eyes widening at the sight of Louis. His mouth is still stuffed full of sweets making his cheeks bulge out. He looks like a chipmunk.

“You look like a chipmunk.”

The prince stops chewing and stares at Louis with wide eyes. To be fair, Louis decides that this encounter must feel more surreal to him than for Louis, considering that the prince wasn’t exactly expecting to be found.

“Swallow your food, mate. You look like you’re about two seconds from spitting in my face or running away screaming,” Louis says with a raised eyebrow, taking a careful step closer.

The prince resumes his frantic chewing and then swallows in one large gulp that sort of looks painful. He clears his throat, moving his plate off his knee and sitting up straighter, his earlier relaxed expression growing blank. Louis immediately recognizes the shedding of any and all personality in the face of any unknown situation, as he’d probably done it himself numerous times in the past before he just stopped giving a shit.

“Who are you?” the prince asks, before his eyes widen even more. “I’m so sorry, that was rude of me.”

Louis is more than a bit taken aback at the hasty apology and the presence of genuine guilt in the prince’s eyes. For once, his mind fails him, and he just gapes wordlessly.

“I’m so sorry. You are, of course, as welcome to the gardens as anyone else would be,” the prince is saying, his words tumbling over each other in his hurry to get them out. “I’ll just get out of your way, then.”

“No, wait!” Louis manages to shake himself out of his brief episode of brain static, reaching out with one hand as the prince goes to stand up.

“You don’t have to leave. You were here first, and these are your gardens after all,” he says with a wry smile. The prince looks uncertain, but he sits back down, offering a tentative smile in response.

“Not really mine. It’s my mother’s, technically, although neither of us actually have anything to do with its maintenance other than spending thousands of pounds on it every year,” the prince says with a dry laugh. He hesitates, and then reaches for the plate sitting next to him on the bench, moving it so there’s an empty spot.

“Would you like to join me?” the prince asks suddenly, gently patting at the spot beside him. He looks uncertain again, as if he was already expecting for Louis to decline.

However, Louis shrugs and takes the last few steps forward to the bench, smoothing his jacket down over his chest before taking a seat next to the prince. He looks at the plate containing the singular macaroon, now back in its original position balanced precariously atop the prince’s pointed knee.

Somehow noticing Louis’ longing stare, the prince breaks the macaroon in half, holding one piece out to Louis.

“You want? It’s really good,” he offers, waving the sweet enticingly in front of Louis’ face.

Louis is only human and who is he to refuse a prince anyway? He takes it from him. “Thanks, mate. These are fucking delicious,” he says, shoving the piece into his mouth and brushing his hand over his trousers to wipe off the crumbs sticking to his sweaty palm.

The prince gapes at him in mild shock, and Louis suddenly realizes that he is indeed sitting next to the Prince of Wales, whom he has not only just swore in front of but also very rudely addressed, not to mention eaten that damned macaroon without an ounce from the encyclopedia book of manners he’s had to memorize since he was about five years old.

He freezes for a moment, his teeth catching on the sweet flaky dessert in his mouth, not having the faintest idea how to remedy his errors before the prince has him sent to the dungeons or word gets round to his mother somehow and she decides to have him sent to _their_ dungeons herself. Louis can’t quite tell which would be worse.

Miraculously, the prince just starts to laugh. His shoulders start to shake as he hunches over, mouth open wide in peals of silent laughter. Louis genuinely doesn’t think anything he said was even remotely deserving of this level of amusement, but the prince’s honking laughter makes him feel oddly smug as he watches him practically fall apart next to him.

The prince straightens himself after a few moments, one finger lightly brushing away the few tears that have fallen from his eyes. Louis watches at him with a gentle sort of curiosity.

“I’m so sorry. That was rude of me. Again,” the prince says, managing to school his expression once more, mostly succeeding except for the small smile that makes his cheeks dimple a little.

“No, not at all, mate. I don’t really know what I said to make you laugh that hard,” Louis gestures in his general direction. “But stop apologizing so much. You’re giving me hives.”

The prince turns to him with an inquisitive look. He’s still clutching his half of the macaroon in between his long and delicate-looking fingers.

“Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name?”

Louis smirks. “That’s because I never gave you it,” he says, watching with amusement when the prince’s dark eyebrows furrow together.

“Will you tell me now, then?”

“How about you tell me your name first?” Louis asks, a part of him teasing and the other part of him just wanting to be obnoxious because he can.

The prince looks at him with an incredulous smile. “Alright. My name’s Harry,” he says. His words roll out of his tongue in a slow drawl, and while Louis thinks it has the potential to make him sound like an absolute douchebag, the prince just sounds like he’s choosing every word carefully, like he’s really putting thought into every word that comes out of his mouth, even if he’s just telling Louis his name. He also notices curiously that Harry didn’t introduce himself with his title.

“And I’m Louis. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry,” Louis says, thrusting his hand out in front of him.

Harry glances down at it, seeming to have suddenly forgotten his own several years’ worth of etiquette training. There’s that amused quirk of his lips again as he grasps Louis’ hand in his own slightly larger one and shakes it twice, firmly.

“Are you going to eat that then or just hold onto it?” Louis asks, jutting his chin out at the piece of macaroon that’s still in Harry’s loose grasp.

Harry looks at it, apparently just realizing that he still hadn’t actually eaten it yet. He shoves it into his mouth while looking at Louis, chewing slowly. They stare at each other for a moment longer until Harry swallows. Then they both burst into giggles simultaneously, as if Harry eating the sweet was the funniest thing to happen to them both.

Considering both the guest list and the itinerary of the party they had both managed to escape, Louis thinks this probably is the most amusing thing to happen to either of them all evening.

“I’m guessing it’s safe for me to assume that you’re also here to escape the vultures out there?” Louis asks once they’ve calmed down.

Harry looks at him in surprise. “You call them that too?”

“I mean, it’s a pretty astute nickname, if I do say so myself. They are all quite….vulture-like.”

Harry snorts, the noise loud and piercing in the relative silence of the garden. He slaps both hands over his mouth, his eyes widening. Louis starts cackling, patting him on the shoulder good-naturedly as Harry’s face flushes pink.

“If you’re about to apologize for laughing again, I will mess up your hair,” Louis threatens, causing Harry’s eyes to grow even wider as his hands leave his face to protectively cover his dark curls that hang just past the line of his sharp jaw.

“Please don’t. I’ll probably cry,” Harry warns, his eyebrows furrowing again. It’s probably the most amusing threat Louis has ever received.

“Oh, whatever will I do if a grown man begins to weep all over me. I’d probably have to run away screaming.”

“Hey,” Harry pouts in faux offence. “Crying is actually very healthy and good for you. You should try it sometime, might make you less mean.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, looking at him appraisingly. He’s only known him for about ten minutes and this man in front of him seems nothing like the Prince of Wales that Louis had built up in his mind for years. He’s even less like the imposing asshole that the papers can’t seem to stop writing about. Louis finds himself feeling pleasantly surprised and a little bit endeared.

“I cried in the car on the way here,” Louis says nonchalantly, sitting back against the bench and folding his hands in his lap. “Still mean, so.”

“Did you actually?” Harry asks him suddenly, his forehead crinkling with concern for the near-stranger he’s literally just met.

Louis rolls his eyes with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, I didn’t. I don’t think that partition between me and the driver would’ve held up to the sound of me sobbing if I’m honest.”

Harry laughs and relaxes against the back of the bench as well, with a small smile. “Well, it’s not really any of your business, but I cried in the shower before coming here. It’s why I was late, actually.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that, then?”

Harry shrugs. “Had a long night. Lots of things on my mind,” he turns to look at Louis wearily. “Gonna miss my sister when she leaves and all that.”

Louis nods in understanding. The man might be royalty, but Louis understands more than anyone else that everyone has their fair share of shitty days. Especially when one finds their entire lives scrutinized every second of every day no matter what you do. He also understands missing your siblings all too well.

“Don’t you have your two lovely lady friends to help you out when you’re feeling lonely at night?” Louis asks with a grin, his intention to tease, but wincing at how the words sound as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

Harry frowns, avoiding Louis’s eyes and looking down at his shuffling shoes against the cobbled stone.

“They’re together, actually. Like, dating,” Harry says, an almost protective edge to his voice. “I just help them out sometimes with the press, because it’s helpful for them to be seen with me. They’re trying to break into the modelling industry, and I wanted to help, even if it sucks that it’s the only way they’d be recognized.”

Louis grimaces, frowning as he realizes just how wrong he’d been in his earlier assumptions and silently cursing his big mouth. “Sorry, mate. Shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s just how it is sometimes, I guess. That’s how everyone else sees it,” Harry says with a wry smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Still. I shouldn't have have assumed. Or judged. That was pretty fucked up of me and I apologize,” Louis insists, shaking his head. He genuinely does feel guilty for judging him so harshly purely based on what was being spread around in the papers, despite knowing full well that half the shit being printed in the tabloids was utter bull. He feels like a giant hypocrite.

Harry looks down at his lap, fiddling with the rounded edge of his paper plate. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Louis purses his lips, almost physically feeling the tension grow around them, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the garden nearly deafening in the silence that stretches on between them. He makes a split decision.

“Hey, what if we went and stole some more macaroons? I’m kind of starved,” he suggests tentatively, nervously standing up from the bench and straightening his jacket, half expecting Harry to decline, but also thinking he would probably say yes just to be nice.

To his surprise, Harry’s face breaks out into a wide grin, his cheeks dimpling as he looks up at Louis excitedly and with more than a bit of relief.

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

And so they go, stumbling in the dark as they try to find their way back out of the garden, giggling quietly when one of them accidentally gets shoved into the surrounding hedges or slips on the moss-covered path.

Louis still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, but he does what he does best and makes the executive decision to just go with it. Deep thinking was often not a friend of his when he was being a spontaneous fuck.

They somehow arrive back at the opening leading out into the main area of the gardens where the party is still in full swing, and Louis pokes his head out over the side to observe.

The guests have all dispersed now, mingling with one another in groups or seated at the tables with plates of sweets and fresh glasses of champagne in front of them. The royals continue to make the rounds, stopping at tables for brief conversations, causing every person sitting at that particular table to rise up simultaneously, sending their chairs and utensils clattering in their haste to stand.

Louis spots Liz sitting at the table that they had claimed earlier, however she is far from alone. A young man sits a polite distance away from her, listening with an open expression as she says something to him excitedly, her hands gesturing wildly in front of her. Louis scowls at the man briefly, making silent note of his blonde hair styled in a very old-fashioned looking side part, and his boring black suit that looks identical to the suit adorned by every other man at this stupid party.

Next to him, Harry suddenly jolts, hiding himself behind Louis’ back. Louis personally thinks that he’s not a very effective hiding spot, seeing as Harry is taller than him by a few inches and quite a bit broader than himself. Harry though, somehow manages to make himself smaller behind Louis, hunching his shoulders and covering his face with his hands.

“What? Did someone see you?” Louis whispers at him, craning his neck out to see if anyone was heading their way.

“My mum was _right there_!” Harry whisper shouts, peeking out from behind his hands.

“Well, I don’t think she saw you,” Louis muses, peering out again. “She’s over by that tree with one of the vultures. Dear god, what a ghastly shade of pink.”

“Where? Show me,” Harry demands, moving so he’s hovering behind him, bravely peeking over Louis' shoulder.

“Your mum or the vulture in pink?”

Harry looks at him incredulously. “Vulture in pink, of course.”

Louis smirks. “Over there, next to the table of bald men,” he says, discreetly pointing.

Harry nudges him with his pointy elbow. “Which one? There’s like three tables of bald men. Plus, one of them even has a lady with a shaved head. She looks really cool. It’s dyed pink, or purple, I think,” he says meanderingly, tilting his head and squinting to see in the semi-darkness of the evening.

“Wait, where? I can’t see,” Louis mutters, going up on his tiptoes to try and get a better look. Harry’s long arm stretches out next to him, pointing very unsubtly at a woman who indeed looked very cool with her shaved head and purple scalp.

Louis hisses, pushing Harry’s arm down hastily. “Stop that! Do you want someone to come over here?” he pushes them both back behind the hedge again before anyone could catch sight of Harry’s fancy floral suit that definitely looks nothing like anything any of the other guests are wearing at the party.

Harry frowns, pushing his bottom lip out and making his eyes get all wide. Louis doesn’t like that. He feels like Harry has too much power when he’s pulling that face.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, obediently hiding behind the wall of greenery and away from any prying eyes.

“Stop that,” Louis mutters half-heartedly, gesturing vaguely at Harry’s face. “You look like a muppet.”

“I do not,” Harry squawks indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, you look like…. like a squirrel.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “A squirrel? I’ve got to say, I’ve never gotten that one before,” he says dryly, deeply amused as he watches Harry’s face flush red.

“Sorry. You don’t actually look like a squirrel. I only said it because you called me a muppet,” Harry mumbles, head dropping as he brings his hands up to cover both his cheeks.

Louis will never ever admit this to any soul, living or not, but he kind of melts at the sight. Even though Louis can’t have known him for half an hour, he’s discovered that Harry looks like an overgrown puppy when he’s like this, his eyes all soft and embarrassed. Louis’ brain completely fails to group the man in front of him with the one he’d pictured in his mind when he was discussing the party back home with Zayn. He decides to put Harry out of his misery and reaches out to pat his shoulder in a commiserating manner.

“What have I told you about apologizing? If you do it again, I will run away and then you’d have to go get sweets on your own and the vultures will get you,” Louis threatens not very seriously at all, turning back around to peek around the wall of hedges.

“Screaming as well, I presume?” Harry murmurs cheekily, apparently having recovered from his embarrassment as he crowds in close behind Louis again.

“Yes, exactly. I will run away screaming if you say sorry for some stupid reason one more time,” Louis agrees absently, his eyes searching for the marquee that had been handing out macaroons earlier. He looks very valiantly for a few moments, but there’s a long queue of people at one of the marquees blocking the front and Louis isn’t sure if it’s for tea or food of some kind.

Something nudges very softly against the back of his shin. “Louis,” Harry whispers very loudly, way too close to his ear.

“What do you want?” Louis whispers back, nudging him back just to be obnoxious and also so he is reminded of the concept of personal space.

“I found the vulture in pink. It really is such a gross colour,” Harry says, his voice starting to rise above the whisper to a low drawl that makes Louis’ skin prickle a little. “I think the problem is that it’s too much of a fuchsia, but if it was more purple and maybe a bit lighter, sort of like a lavender, then it would look really good.”

Louis pauses, before slowly turning around, his eyebrows climbing up onto his forehead as he looks at Harry incredulously.

“What are you even saying?”

Harry blushes, looking down at his feet. “I dunno. I just like clothes and colours and stuff, I guess,” he shrugs, trying very hard and failing to appear nonchalant.

Louis grins at him, beyond endeared by Harry at this point. “That’s really cool, mate. You have a good eye for it.”

“Thanks. I mean, I did major in art history. Good to know it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” Harry says dryly, his cheeks dimpling again as he glances down at Louis with a grin.

“You majored in art history? Huh, I didn’t even remotely know that,” Louis muses partly to himself, turning to fully face Harry and re-evaluating every single piece of information he’d received about the prince over the years that have somehow been the complete opposite to what Harry was really like as a person. 

Harry nods, his eyes lighting up and his curls bouncing slightly. “Yeah, and I did a minor in photography. I even have a photo album that nobody knows about,” he says with a self-satisfied smirk.

“If no one knows about it then what’s the point in having it, Harold?” Louis asks to be obnoxious, his grin growing even wider when Harry’s eyebrows draw close in another adorable frown.

“People know about it. Just, not everybody. It’s not like a secret album or anything. And there isn’t anything weird in it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Harry says a little indignantly, poised as if he were two seconds away from storming off to grab the album and show Louis himself.

“I’m only teasing,” Louis reassures him with a giggle, far more amused about Harry’s indignancy than he probably should be. “Although now that you’ve mentioned it, you have to show it to me sometime. It’s the rules, Harold.”

Harry looks down at him with an expression that says “who the fuck is this kid,” his smirk completely betraying his amusement. “You do know that my real name isn’t Harold, right? Harry isn’t short for anything.”

Louis waves a dismissive hand, his face scrunching up. “Oh, pish posh, Harold. I’ll call you what I want. Now, shut up and help me find the macaroons. Also, don’t you dare think that this means I’ve forgotten about that secret album of yours.”

They both return to their spying in silence, with only Harry’s intermittent rustling interrupting their relative silence.

Suddenly, he gasps loudly into Louis’ ear.

“What? What happened? Did someone see you? Did you fall over?” Louis frantically asks him, turning around to face him and finding their chests pressed right up against each other.

“I found the macaroon tent!” Harry exclaims excitedly, his mouth falling open in a giant grin as he practically jumps on the spot.

“Alright, show me where it is,” Louis demands, squinting as Harry meanderingly points it out; it’s just off to the corner, a little farther out than the one Louis had seen people lining up for.

“Here’s the plan. There’s no way in hell you’re going out there, so I will take one for the team. You stay here and make sure my sister doesn’t see me,” Louis carefully instructs him, watching with no little amusement when Harry nods eagerly.

Harry frowns. “Wait, which one’s your sister?”

“Oh shit, right, I forgot to show you,” Louis nearly rolls his eyes at himself. “See that blonde girl over at that table? She’s talking to that dickhead there,” he says scathingly, subtly pointing out the pair to Harry.

“Oh, that’s Will. He’s actually really nice. We went to uni together, but I think he was a history major,” Harry says very unhelpfully, squinting at the table containing Liz and dickhead Will.

“Well, sad for you. Just keep watch, okay? I’ll be back,” Louis lightly pats Harry’s very firm chest twice, before stepping out. He pauses after having taken only a few sneaky steps, slinking right back to their spot. Harry looks at him expectantly, one elegant brow raised.

“Do you have a favourite flavour?”

Harry smiles widely at him, the white of his teeth peeking out as they tug on his bottom lip. “Um, I like the blue ones best. But if they don’t have blue, then I’d like the green ones, please.”

“Blue or green, got it. I’ll be back, Harold. Stay right here,” Louis reminds him warningly and grinning at the double thumbs up he receives from Harry. before lightly jogging out into the open space of the garden where the party is being held.

Thankfully, there isn’t much of a queue at the tent where the macaroons are being handed out, and there is an abundance of blue ones. Louis piles several onto a small paper plate, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure that he’s still in the clear. Liz is still busy with Will the dickhead history major, and no one else seemed to mind Louis’ presence in their midst, so he figures he’s good.

He stops making his macaroon pile to look up in Harry’s direction for a moment. The boy’s head is poking out from behind the hedge they’d been hiding behind, his dark curls curtaining his face. He’s looking around the garden, diligently peering in Liz and Will’s direction but also presumably checking on whether his family has noticed his absence yet.

They also seem to be pretty preoccupied; the senior royals having sat down at a table far from the food tents and where the two of them had been hiding, and Princess Victoria and her fiancé deep in conversation with a few of the bald men at one of the three tables of bald men that him and Harry had spotted.

He quickly finishes filling up his plate and hurries back to Harry, clutching their macaroons to his chest protectively. Harry cheers quietly when Louis manages to get back behind the hedge without being seen.

“There were so many blue ones, so I only got blue ones,” Louis explains, thrusting the plate out in front of him and watching happily as Harry takes two.

“Thank you. These are so lovely,” Harry says through a mouthful of macaroon. He tries to cover his mouth with one hand, but ultimately fails as crumbs fly out of his mouth as he speaks.

Louis giggles at him before shoving his own two macaroons into his mouth. They both chew silently for a few minutes, trying not to burst into peals of laughter every time their eyes meet, both of them finding their current predicament far more amusing that it really is despite any alcohol they might’ve consumed during the evening definitely having worn off by now.

Harry slides down until he’s sitting cross-legged on the grass, holding his hands out for the plate containing the remaining macaroons. Louis hands it to him before joining him in sitting on the ground.

“Won’t your parents wonder where you ran off to?” Louis asks into the silence, the thought popping into his mind randomly for the first time since they’d met earlier.

Harry inhales deeply, brushing the crumbs off his chin with the back of his hand. “Yeah, probably. It’s V’s day though, so I don’t think they’ve noticed, to be honest. Not in a bad way, but just because they’ve all been so busy with the wedding planning and stuff.”

Louis nods in understanding, his lips pursed together. He probably knows more than most would about what it feels like to be forgotten by one’s own family in favour of one big society event or another. When he and Liz had gotten a bit older, his mother had decided to devote herself to meticulously planning and flawlessly executing the grandest dinners and balls and parties. But he figures it would be tenfold of that for Harry, especially considering his sister was going to be married in the most televised royal wedding in all of British history.

“You excited for the wedding, then?” Louis asks, nudging Harry with his shoulder.

“Yes! Very excited. I’ve obviously not had much to do with it, but I did help V with coming up with design ideas for the dress, which was really fun,” Harry says, his eyes lighting up again as they had when he’d been talking about the particular shade of the vulture’s pink dress before. “I’m really happy for her, but I’ll really miss her too. She’s sort of my best friend, you know? We already don’t get to see each other enough, and we’ll probably see each other less when she’s married.”

“I get it. I really do,” Louis says a little stiltedly even though he can definitely relate to the sentiment. Comforting adult humans is not really his strong suit. He doesn’t think Harry would appreciate the guy he’s met barely an hour ago stroking his hair or gently rubbing his back, so Louis keeps his hands to himself. “I have three sisters. Liz, the one you just saw out there, Flora, and Amelia. She’s only five,” Louis says with a fond smile.

“I don’t live at home anymore, and I don’t get to see them very often. It sucks absolute ass, honestly. So yeah, I get it, mate.” Louis says, reaching out for another macaroon before he starts to feel too maudlin.

“You left home a few years ago, yeah? Left a note and everything?” Harry asks after a bit of a pause where the only sound between them was Louis chewing on his macaroon with the chatter of the party guests acting as a constant source of background noise. His voice is tentative and soft, almost like he’s approaching some wild animal and he’s afraid to spook it by being too fast and loud.

Louis picks at the grass next to his shoe. “Yeah, that was me. Probably was the talk of the town, wasn’t I?”

Harry smiles at him ruefully. “Yeah, for a while you were. But then the next thing happened and then the next, and you were old news pretty fast.”

“Wow. I’m truly flattered. I don’t know whether to be offended or relieved, to be honest,” Louis says dryly, raising his eyebrows as he turns to look at Harry.

“It was probably for the best,” Harry says with a soft laugh. “What are you doing now, then?”

“I’m a drama teacher at a primary school in London. I direct the school play every winter and coach the footie team after school sometimes. I love it,” Louis says, unable to stop himself from smiling fondly at the thought of the kids at the primary school and the job that he loves. He is very rudely interrupted by the intrusive reminder of his family’s situation and the fact that he probably won’t get to work for much longer.

“Might as well enjoy it while it lasts,” he mutters bitterly to the ground, temporarily forgetting that Harry was still with him and unfortunately turning out to be a very attentive listener.

“What do you mean by that?” Harry asks him, concern lacing his voice. The plate containing the last two blue macaroons sits in the small space between them.

“It’s just — I don’t know if I should be telling you, to be honest. It’s kind of a weird family situation and my Mum will definitely have my head if she ever found out I cried to the fucking Prince of Wales about it,” Louis says, huffing humourlessly.

Harry makes a soft noise next to him. “You know, that’s the first time that you’ve referred to me by my title.”

Louis looks up at him in surprise, his eyebrows raised. “No, I asked about your parents and your sister, like five minutes ago. And your mum is the Queen of England, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Harry rolls his eyes but the dimples in his cheeks betray him. “No, I haven’t forgotten, thank you. It’s just that — you never like bowed or called me “Your Highness” or anything like that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I thought about doing that when I saw you and then I told you that you looked like a chipmunk, and by then I figured we were already mates at that point so it’d be weird if I started calling you “Your Highness” after comparing your face to a woodland creature.”

Harry laughs again and it comes out like that weird honking noise like from before. His hands fly up to cover his mouth and Louis cackles beside him, pointing at him teasingly. Harry flushes in embarrassment when Louis pokes at his cheeks.

“You’re so mean to me,” Harry pouts, jerking away from Louis’ prodding fingers.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Highness. Would you like me to kiss your feet to make it up to you? Maybe lick your boot while I’m there?” Louis says exaggeratedly, batting his eyelashes at Harry obnoxiously.

“You never answered my question,” Harry says softly after a beat, all traces of humour gone from his eyes. “About why you have to enjoy your job while it lasts. It’s not like it has an expiration date, right?”

“Why are you asking me like you don’t know? Do you think jobs have expiration dates, Your Highness?” Louis asks, with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He can tell that Harry notices too, because he doesn’t laugh at Louis’ dumb joke, even though he’s laughed at every one of his stupid jokes so far.

Louis sighs, looking down at the grass again, plucking a fistful of it just to have something to do with his hands.

“I’ll be happily wedded soon. Suppose I don’t need a job then, do I?” he says, knowing full well just how bitter he sounded and discovering that he didn’t give much of a fuck about it.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long while after that, and Louis thinks maybe he’s said too much. He barely knows Harry after all. Maybe he’s one of those traditionalists who agrees with Louis’ parents and thinks marriage is the end all be all for people like them. Maybe he shouldn’t have spilled his guts out to the Prince of Wales and a near fucking stranger, within barely an hour of meeting him.

“You realize that me of all people, would probably understand what you’re going through more than anyone else,” Harry says softly, interrupting the tense silence that had fallen around them. “I mean, of course, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to have a life apart from this and then have it taken away from me all of a sudden, and I won’t pretend to know what that feels like. But I get it. The pressure to marry. Keeping up appearances. It sucks, a lot.”

Louis sucks in a breath, not wanting to start crying in front of Harry but also finding himself helpless to the feeling of his eyes prickling all of a sudden.

“Yeah. I guess you would get it,” he says instead, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as croaky as it does to himself.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,” Harry offers, smiling crookedly at him when Louis looks at him over his shoulder. “And I know that it’s not worth much at all, you are definitely not the only person feeling like this,” he says.

“Thanks, mate. I really do appreciate the sentiment,” Louis says, sitting back a bit so their shoulders are barely touching.

The air around them has an enveloping chill that makes Louis shiver slightly, his trousers having ridden up his legs to reveal the skin of his ankles to the open. The sky continues to darken, the indigo purple from earlier swirling into an inky black, beginning to reveal the very limited smattering of stars that one can catch a glimpse of in the city. The chatter of the guests has grown quieter from the other side of the hedge that they are sitting against. Louis figures the end of the party must be near.

“Shall we return to our admiring masses then, Harold?” Louis stands up, brushing the grass and dampness off the back of his trousers to the best of his abilities, feeling very thankful for the fact that it’s nighttime and no one will be able to see the grass stains on his ass unless they’re looking very closely. Which, Louis thinks would be entirely understandable if they were, to be fair.

He holds out a hand, which Harry grabs onto to pull himself upright. They grin at each other again, and Louis feels a familiar sense of satisfaction and pure joy curl in his stomach that comes with making a new friend.

“Yes, let’s.”

Louis steps around the hedge first, immediately catching the attention of Liz who gestures him over rather viciously. He heads over to her with an apologetic smile, accepting her concerned berating with a light shrug when he sits down next to her.

He sees Harry walk out from behind the hedge not long after him, his gait steady but his face entirely blank like it had been when Louis had first seen him enter the party. It looks so weird seeing him like that again and not grinning from ear to ear or pouting or flushed with embarrassment. Even though that blank look is what Louis should probably be more used to, considering that’s the only image of the prince that he’s gotten for years and years.

Harry is immediately swarmed by a group of squealing vultures who actually get out of their chairs in their haste to go to him. Louis winces at the sight, but is admittedly rather impressed at the easy, charming smile that Harry somehow manages to pull out even in the face of their pinching and squeezing and high-pitched exclamations.

Harry looks up just then and catches Louis staring. He winks cheekily, turning back to a lady who seems to be quite hell-bent on keeping his attention all to herself, her hand curling around his bicep.

Liz nudges his arm, a furrow in her eyebrows as she studies him with more than a little confusion.

“You had fun, then, wherever the hell you ended up?”

Louis grins. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”


End file.
